


Possible Second Chance

by NxnsxgnorsDxmon



Series: Nunsignor Short Books [10]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Burns, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Declarations Of Love, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Doctor/Patient, Drama, Drama & Romance, Enemies, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Heavy Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lesbian Sex, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, Male-Female Friendship, Near Death, Necrophilia, Nuns, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Platonic Sex, Platonic Soulmates, Please Don't Hate Me, Possibly Unrequited Love, Priests, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Rough Sex, Sex, Slow Romance, Tragic Romance, True Love, Unrequited, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vaginal Sex, nunsignor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-09-18 23:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 58,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NxnsxgnorsDxmon/pseuds/NxnsxgnorsDxmon
Summary: Jude is still a patient in Briarcliff against her will. However, one day the things change abruptly, turning the roller coaster of Judy Martin into more dynamic and arcane. Is there a possible second chance for the traitor, blinded by the possessed Mary Eunice, Dr. Arden and the murderous Santa Claus, Leigh Emerson's sugarcoated lies, besides his own divinely insurmountable ambition?The answer the reader is looking for the possible second chance can be found out...{Warning: Strong Language, Sexual Content and Non-consensual Sex/Rape}





	1. Dreams and Reality

**✞** _Matthew 6:15_ **✞**  
**✞** _“But if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”_ **✞**

\--- *********** \---  
  


_The dreams were so sweet and insatiable. They were an unrealistic medicament or the mirage that dwelt in your train of thoughts while kipping peacefully. Depending on the nuances, they were either dreams or nightmares. Depending on the mood, it could be said it's so judgmental to formulate the dream. Sometimes sheer bliss shimmered, tinting vibrantly your vision with your tightly clutch shut eyelids. Or with flashing, graphic images that were unspeakably bizarre of being mentioned, however, they slipped on the tongue as a chunk._

_What was exactly Judy Martin dreaming of?_

_A sunny, vibrant day in Rome. The sun was immensely smiling to its surrounding today, dispersing its saturating sun rays and bathing in natural sunlight as a warm blanket their exposed fleshes. The sky was cloudless and it didn't have any intentions of being swarmed by the translucent clouds, blocking its view._

_The bloody red, satin aisle of divine Rome was dripping like a venomous snake tongue the grand façade's massive stairs. Galore of people whether from the diocese or just civilians were awaiting the arrival and honor the revered Pope, Mother Superior and their children._

_Hold on a second! How and why the children? The diocese was strongly against the devotional members of the church having or giving a birth to children even having sexual interactions, leading them to sinning and breaking the vows brashly. Earning God's piercing, judgmental glares above as a superior face above them and judging each manner of their. Anyway once the British compatriot with two home lands raised in the diocese from the ambitious Monsignor up to the revered Cardinal and then eventually the exalted Pope, he altered the rules as they were slightly different just for him and his own rare bird. In spite of the trials they've been through for abundance of years even when they wore inferior cleric titles, they still didn't give up with an ease and pursued with every ounce their goals even accomplishing them fully._

_Sometimes a few years ago, when the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer was just Sister Jude and the head nun of the infamous mental hospital of the small city of Massachusetts and meeting the man of her dreams who's actually the Monsignor, himself, they had their own tough times. For example, the disagreements they had and seldom sharing antithesis in their decisions they're plotting of making even when sharing one another's plans to raise in the church._

_Ocean of mere nuns and general population were crowding the audience. Their croaks of addressing formally the exalted members of the church scratched their throats, verging to skip their heart beats as if they're on cloud nine and having the chance to be noticed whether by the Mother Superior, the Pope or their little sweet rays of sunshine._

_All of a sudden, monotonous click, echoing the ravishing red as the former licentious jazz nightclub singer's remarkable scarlet satin slip with light footsteps, emanating from Jude, Timothy and pair of identical twins, eerily resembling their parents. They weren't just two pairs of girls or boys. They were an identical boy and girl twins. They’re like the mini versions of Adam and Eve, who’ve actually raised in the highest tiers of the clergy and taking after their parents their spellbinding facial features, hybridizing Jude and Timothy’s biological creations, made of their own sheer flesh and blood. The mini Adam’s version or rather, the young boy twin was actually already five-year-old. Just as old as his twin sister, nevertheless, inheriting the sister of the church’s aureate curly hair texture that capped his head and framing his round, chubby profile, followed by her button, delicate nose and her piercing, brutally honest hazelish-brown embers with the most scorching and vibrant hazelish pigment. Last but not least, the young boy was deriving his father’s thick, dark and amusingly expressive eyebrows along with his well-carved cheekbones and his boyish, bashful smile. They were the sole exceptions that rendered him one of a kind mother son, sharing a few prominent in common his father’s features that diverged from the Bostonian. His name was Nicholas Jeremy._

_Whereas Nicholas’s sister was deriving vibrantly from her own mother with her outstanding chestnut pigment and straight hair texture, texturing her long dark mop of glossy cocoa tresses, framing her round, chubby profile. Her lips were cherub full, baby pinkish with the sweetest, tender pecks on the temples and cheeks. Further, the little girl was inheriting her biological creator’s coffee brown coals, mottled with vague hazelish pigment that chromatically sometimes altered, due to the light and her mood. Sometimes when the light cast the fieriest, the warmest coffee brown with lighter patterns, glinting like Espresso. Or rather, the darkest chocolate brown, almost indiscernible as her eye pupils. Her smile was as promisingly innocent as the younger recension of the former sleazy nightclub singer. Once the mini Judy with major of crossbreed British compatriot’s one of a kind tinctures grows up and rides the roller coaster of her short life from the childhood up to the adolescent and lastly the adulthood, galore of heartbroken men would encompass her, crucially because of her drop-dead gorgeous face and the smiles she offers them whether succumbingly tempting, or, on the contrary, the sweetest, most innocent, smeared across her pale-pinkish lips. The young girl was named Phoebe Audrey._

_The gaits elegantly lionized figures of Rome, accompanied by their children to be honored by their admirers waved amiably, kindheartedly to everybody that has the chance to regard their salute. Bright, friendly smiles ignited its ablaze pyro barriers, enkindling enthusiastic smiles brushing their lips and blush touching their chubby, well-defined cheeks with a generous nuance of cherry._

_“Here are the chosen ones!” The crowd purred a croak with jubilance, lacing their tongues, clapping their hands and the majority of the general population protracting their hands for a handshake and minimal chances of being greeted and noticed by them, in fact, everybody can’t be noticed at all._

_It wasn’t their first time Nicholas and Phoebe accompanying their parents on special events shortly after they’re taught to walk and expand their limited vocabulary, due to their fragile age. The brunette was hiding shyly behind the middle-aged woman’s rigidly shapeless, dark wool habit hem, demure smile constricting her jaw line, averting her chocolate brown pools from the strangers’ eyes. Her petite, pudgy hands seized the dark wool fabric, grazing her smoothly alabaster palms with its fabric rigidness, itching its delicate skin._

_At the moment, the twin brother was by his father side, glancing at every outskirt of the major crowd, admiring its ginormous mass of people and nuns’ fixed eyes on them, cheering them up and chatting with one another, commenting their double standard life by judging their occupation and family status in general._

_They yet wondered how a devotional man of the cloth with his wisely chosen right hand by judging her austere authority, chaste, responsibility and intelligence are capable of baring children, and they attend on events and mass. Furthermore, they’ve been wondering yet how the rules have significantly altered when the former aspiring Monsignor raised in the highest, most celestial tiers of the patriarchy._

_The society always trusted the morals and still believed the religion’s legion constitution where the nuns and priests were forbidden of baring their own creations, made of their own flesh and blood, or, on the contrary, the patriarchy and their mentors are obligated more than anything to abolish them from their own positions. The assembled flock of civilians were in awe how the Mother Superior and the Pope were the sole exceptions or numbered as the fewest church members, who are happily married to one another with children._

_\--- ******* ****\---_

_\--- End of Dream ---_

_\--- 27th of December, 1964 ---_

Was that the reality? Or rather, a mirage in its dream realm which could never happen?

The both questions swirled and twirled in the senseless former nun’s whirlpool of thoughts with her tightly clutch shut eyelids, her once glossy by its sheer, decent hygiene roseate lips lost its genuine luster, producing light snores, pumping her chest as if the snores, exhales and inhales were giving her CPRs, curing her senseless condition. Her once halo ringlet of flossy old Hollywood gilded tresses with its outstanding lavish flossy texture were already grizzling it curls’ texture, diminishing the gild opacity in the limbo. Her once porcelain lavish with its youthful palish tone epidermis was unhealthily, feebly blanched by having meals twice a day which were with low-quality and swamping the pit of her stomach with nausea, amalgamating with the medicine which she seldom or at least pretended to take, prescribed to cure her mental illness or the insanity that faked the reason she’s committed as a patient against her will and being stripped off every clerical and personal possession of hers. She was just Judy Martin. Again yet even before joining the church and renaming herself from Judy to Jude, because of the church’s rules.

The sensation of a handful of slim, pristinely dexterous fingers that were plugged in her pink nether area, teasing her core with its contracting walls against the possessed sister of the church’s fingers, baptized in its insatiably crystalline juices of her orgasm which she’s reaching. Oblivion fogged the senior blonde along with a migraine plaguing her cells all over again, regardless how many times she pretended to take her own medicine and masticate the meals that were far from luxurious or sufficiently bearable for consuming. The recurring sixth sense of being watched didn’t flee with an ease at all. Fiendishly feline, brass dappled irises landed on the unconscious, drifted off asleep inmate.

The senior blond groaned a grunt, muffling a yawn until her eyelids fluttered open, indistinctness tinting her vision as a dark, infernal figure stood beside her old, tattered bed in the ward. It was a nun. The ward’s iron, rustily old door was askew opened in the women’s wing. The evil was opting to corrupt one of the inmates and eating her with its bleak darkness, shadowing her entire identity. Once a sinner, always a sinner! Her fashioned in balled brittle fists rubbed the groggy eyelids until the blurriness vanished in the thin air.

What the former pious woman of the cloth could behold was her former mentor and most of all, daughter figure was commanded by the Satan pushing her fingers inside her core, chewing on her lower lip greedily with her front ivory, youthfully firm teeth its delicate skin of her roseate lip, mimicking in low voice the moans which could Jude reproduce as a symphony. For how long Mary Eunice has been in her cell as a short destination of testing her patience and belittling her, plummeting her morality and rationality? Only the possessed woman of the cloth knew by herself.

Everything about Rome, having children and being happily married to the love of her life was all illusion and existing for the mirage realm which has already dwelt out of after her dream was commuted to the reality, where everything was far from beautiful to be real and too ugly to be crudely cold and unbalanced to block the path to ultimate felicity. She could dream every scenario with Timothy, marrying, having heavenly honeymoons and voyages even having their own children and live far away from the miserable, sinister mental institution with their own dreams and ideals. The reality bundled her in the crudely hypothermic blanket, prickling her epidermis with electrifying goosebumps as its richness of next level realization didn’t diminish her migraine.

The tribulations of her daughter figure and migraine in the same time were messing her up, mudding her with series of scum, impurity and sore agony overlay her flesh, heart, inner voices and whirlpool of thoughts. Frown twisted across the Bostonian’s naturally rosy-coloured, dry lips, eyeing skeptically her own ex-protégé. She couldn’t expect her ex-protégé is prone to homosexual manners even having sleazy intentions towards the representatives of the opposite sex except the opposite ones.

“W-What are ya doing?” The older woman’s balled fists grappled her own bed sheets, oblivious to her shapeless, convenient patient robe’s hem was flaring across her mid-thigh with her spread lean, long as towers legs, giving a better access to the slyly vile spawn of the Satan to tease her unless something urged her to stop in a halt with manipulating with her own slim, starkly baptized in slimy, delicious juices. “Mary Eunice, what do ya think you’re doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing is also a good question!” Mischievously wicked, halfhearted snigger clicked the roof of the young lady’s mouth, gawking glassily with fiendish lust her former mentor’s pallid with light-heavy wrinkles complexion, contrasting her frown. The realization of being molested by nobody than the once most irreproachable, purest, naïve and least detrimental soul that has feared of Jude’s iron fist and authority that ran the facility became one of the most powerful nuns behind the dull, dilapidating walls of Briarcliff. Nevertheless, Judy couldn’t protest physically, in spite of her severe and headstrong attempts to protect herself physically against the demon’s plotted plans of corrupting its own prey. What the former holy woman could dream of was entering rabbit hole of the freedom, releasing herself from the madness that boozed her sanity. Being strapped on an old, tattered bed was another trap and tribulation for her. It was too late for her to protect self from the possessed juvenile holy woman’s intentions. Suffocating her stamina and sanity. All the senior blonde could do was croaking from the top of her frail lungs for somebody whether an orderliness, nun, security guard even the Monsignor, himself to come and rescue her. Nobody was standing for her anymore after losing everything. Discrimination reigned in the mental institution. The entire asylum was against her. No friends or at least, mutuals were encircling her and having any intentions of saving her skin. With the sole people she’s socializing were Kit, Lana, and Pepper.

Frank was already dead even when he’s amidst the fewest loyal, true friends she’d ever had in her life and cherished their genuine, one of kind friendships they had.

“No, no! You’re corrupted.” Blubbery twin crystal tears bubbled up her eyelids, dripping its rivulet across her lower eyelids as they slowly and steadily gushed down downward her parchment facial skin. The middle-aged lady suckled on her lower dry, plumpish lip. “Stay away from me you lesbian demon!” Even when her venomous serpentine tongue crafted the fiercest utterance, Mary Eunice overlooked it and guffawing bluntly as if Jude’s protests were far from distinctive, opting to mute them somehow with the interweave of high-pitched bewails and infernal laughters. “Help! Somebody help me! Monsignor! Dr. Arden!”

“Don’t pressure your tongue so much with asking for help, Jude! Your favorite Monsignor is never going to come back for his old whore to help her.” Meanwhile, the juvenile blonde leaned against her former mentor, a few inches leaving its gap cavity unfilled, manipulating yet with her fingers inside the former member of the clergy’s nether area until a ball of saliva formed on her tongue, lingering thickening it richly. “Do you still think of his big, hard cock fucking your brains out? Huh?” Coldhearted cough scratched Mary Eunice’s throat until Jude spat on her recklessly, headstrongly.

“Fuck you! And get your foul fingers from inside me!” In the meanwhile, the smitten member of the clergy removed her hands from the elder blonde’s entrance by daubing the clammily abominable spat area on her young-looking, fresh face with her fingertips, withdrawing with a couple of inches, whereas the sharp tone of Jude’s cussing boiled the bile that rose in her throat as humongous ire and contempt brewed and cooked inside her in its cauldron with venomous liquid.

“How dare you,” Meantime, the doctor of science, Dr. Arden paced in the women’s wing hallway, looking for his favorite nun until the croak of Mary Eunice resuscitated his adrenaline, pumping in his veins by scooting up to the solely opened cell in the middle of the night. “You old slutty bitch? When you are going to be taught on discipline?”

“Anything wrong, Sister?” Suddenly the former Nazi war criminal startled the juvenile holy woman with his haphazard presence as she dabbed with a cotton oyster-white handkerchief the saliva, staining her cheek.

“Yes! I was teasing this old whore until she spat on my face and insulted me!” The juvenile blonde managed a faint nod in solemn agreement, smug, mischievous grin baring her teeth by grimacing her face with a glare, shot at the older lady. “She deserves a cruel punishment!”

“Needless to say, Sister! Of course, I’ll take care of Judy by taking her in my laboratory and teach her a lesson!” At the moment, the senior doctor approached the patient bed by unstrapping her immobile body parts and dragging her violently from her ward, whereas she writhed in his tight, inescapable grip, scowling ferociously. “Come with me, Mary Eunice! Especially if you want to be my assistant!”

“With enormous pleasure I wouldn’t miss the show, Doctor!” As soon as the former sister of the church protested and drained the remaining energy she could cry out loud from the top of her lungs for help, meantime, Mary Eunice fled Jude’s cell by locking it with the rusty key and escorting her uncle figure up to his laboratory.

“Somebody help me! Please!”

\--- *********** \---

Within a handful of minutes elapsing slower than a crawling snail, series of bewails and emotional pleas cawed, itching the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s lungs after being dragged in the former Nazi war criminal’s laboratory and being strapped mercilessly on its patient bed, while being encircled by her worst foes. Dr. Arden and the possessed Sister Mary Eunice.

While the doctor of science was preparing the sterile tools, in the interval, the young woman was playing her own daredevil game. Testing her ex-mentor’s patience while mewling shrilling, husky whine.

“Please! Help me! Help me!” Meantime, Mary Eunice attempted to hush with her slim, pristinely long as a flute finger her mouth, shushing alleviating to her as if she’d to console a newborn’s uncontrollable blubbers.

“Keep her mouth shut! She’s too noisy, Mary Eunice!” Arthur’s stern utterance ordered the young blonde, turning to her for a split second.

“I’m trying, Doctor!” The administrator of the mental hospital assured him with a wink by shifting her attention to him for a while, consequently her brass mottled irises, predominating more the citrine than the azure blue hue were fixed with an eerie flat line, indicating across her plump lips. “Shu, shu, shu, Judy! Don’t you know who got himself in a big trouble?” Wry, mischievous chuckle was almost dying in the corners of her mouth, leaning against her former mentor. “It’s you!” Emphasis of the noun parted her lips in the deep lisp, accentuating her utterance.

“Monsignor, help me! Somebody help me!” The screeching pleas were followed by writhes.

“You aren’t even trying Mary Eunice! That’s so disappointing until the work is about to be done.”

“Nobody is going to help you, pathetic slut! You’re going to die right there, right here!” In the interim, Bostonian’s tear-stained in heavy rain complexion crinkled with raising an eyebrow, pursing her cherub lips at the baleful words of the once sweet, innocent holy woman. “You did it to yourself, instead of allowing yourself to indulge yourself with my sweet, insatiable touch between your legs.” All of a sudden, the echoing masculine, familiar footsteps in the profound corridor of the madhouse caught the three adults off guard promptly. It wasn’t an orderly. It wasn’t a patient. It was Timothy.

“It looks like the Monsignor will acknowledge the big trouble is going to embrace the consequences.” Seconds before entering the unwelcoming, eerie laboratory of the senior doctor, Arthur grunted a mumble by ambling up to the trapped inmate on its patient bed. 

** **✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** ** ** **✞** **

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****✞ ****_What are your true thoughts on the prologue?_ ****✞********✞ ****_Do you think Jude will be in sure hands in the impending chapter or otherwise she will ride the dynamic roller coaster of her torment? _**** ✞ ********✞ ****_Don't forget to leave a honest feedback with your initial impressions, if you have genuinely enjoyed and liked the chapter. :)) _****✞****


	2. Solace

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** **Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for the previous chapter how blandly boring and ordinary was, nevertheless from now on the story is commencing to arouse interest, in my humble opinion or at least I guess. I hope you like and enjoy! :))** **

\--- *********** \---

The ambitious Monsignor was pacing double checking the lethally hushed in silence corridors of the old, dilapidating mental hospital. Suddenly ruckus, emanating as a despairing bewail from the former Nazi war criminal's laboratory tingled into his ears like the vexing sound of slowly and steadily scraping nails downward the wood. His pale-pinkish, soft as satin lips crinkled in a pensive, bashful purse. The bewailed croak sounded familiar to him. It was his rare bird.

Abundance of questions whirled and twirled in his vortex of thoughts. Little did he know why Arthur Arden had malicious intentions of agonizing the once holy nun. What he fathomed so far was that Dr. Arden and Jude were foes, antagonizing one another, in fact, Jude has always found the doctor of science bone-chillingly fishy. He didn't need to knock on the doctor of science's office door.

His masculine, light footsteps whistled, solely clicking the cemented flooring in the abysmal hall until his mammoth, veiny hand managed to lower to the door handle, turning it in subtle silence, without attracting further attention. The notoriously creaky door hushed the creaking sound, tingling his ears by setting a foot in his co-worker's austere, unwelcoming office by shutting the door, while his cherub, baby pinkish lips popped up suddenly. His coffee brown embers with the most vibrant coffee pigment have already lost its glossiness. They were rather blanched with the most contagious, palish coffee brown, leaning to cedar brown.

"Dr. Arden!" When his chocolate brown orbs managed to scan the former Nazi war criminal's office, consequently his lips curled in a croak, addressing formally. He ambled up to the laboratory's den by earning promptly ternary pairs of inquisitive eyes.

Two piercing, bone-chilly glares, darted to the British compatriot, who has interfered in the middle of the daredevil game which Arthur Arden and Mary Eunice were playing and composing the real concept of torture. The sole pair of eyes that noticed him, whilst laying and managing series of squirms, encumbering with pain and pressure due to the excessive protests vibrantly contrasted the other twains of fierce embers, igniting the most caustic flame, incinerating its coals. All Timothy could read from distance in the corner of his chocolate brown ember was the myriad of mortification and shivers, blanching her feeble face and mottling her honey brown irises. What it surprised the former devotional holy woman was the suddenness of muffling her whimpers as soon as she wasn’t alone with her maulers. Her pale, dry lips flattened its plumpish surface in a hushing purse, swigging a lump in the back of her throat in the struggle.

In the meanwhile, the ambitious Monsignor clutched in a balled fist the rosary beads, wrapped around his pristinely clumsy, strong fingers. He didn’t have time to lose and his remaining time to save his rare bird was elapsing slowly but surely.

“Sister Mary Eunice! What are you up to now?” The gravely posed question of Timothy flinched the possessed by the devil young woman, fidgeting her fingers, whereas the senior doctor cleared gruffly his throat with an ease.

“M-Monsignor? It’s impossible yar presence to be so real.” Fortunately, it was solely distinctive the murmur, floating from the former religious nun’s roseate, cherub cracked lips of the dryly cold common climate in the madhouse. The heart beats, throbbing vehemently in her chest brake abruptly even when armoring the haphazard intentions of her flimsy heart frailly to spring up.

“This patient has been so disobedient and that’s what she brought to herself. The big trouble.” The juvenile possessed sister of the church’s retaliation tingled trouble into Timothy’s ears, whose dark, thick eyebrow raised an arch. Disbelief contoured gingerly his charming facial features at his newly chosen right hand’s utterance. He might team with Sister Mary Eunice, who’s even yet possessed and capable of anything to exterminate with an ease due to her supernatural power she possessed, nevertheless, the scene was so far sinister to witness the attempted experiment on one of the wretched souls’ current metaphoric refuge, where she could find her own death within a few minutes or a few hours after the dreadful experiments. Even as an administrator of a notorious mental institution for criminally insane, the British compatriot was even responsible for the patients who disappeared or were inhumanely murdered even tortured. His one of a kind rara avis wasn’t exceptional either. He could lose drastically his trust in her and noting wee, vague inkle of her insanity eating her sanity by transforming quickly from the woman of the cloth that ran a facility with an iron fist and raising in the highest tiers of facility’s staff, plummeting down to a patient, deemed as nobody than a madwoman, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he loses her. Her life’s price was far from meager. It would be worth millions of prayers for her soul and the damned wasted potential to aid her to heal.

“If she’s strapped on this bed, there should be a reason. You can’t just strap her without any sincere real and enjoy torturing her for another imminent experiment.” The softness of his lilt, amalgamating with strictness caution rose the bile up in the juvenile woman of the cloth and doctor’s throats.

“Monsignor, I doubt you’ve some kind of business to interfere there and prying which is readily mine!” The former war criminal’s rejoinder stung the austere, unwelcoming glare of the head priest of Briarcliff, fixing them on the much older man. “Especially when it comes up to the experiments on these patients and I can admit your former right hand is absolutely one of the worst, noisiest patients I’ve ever strapped on a bed. Sister Mary Eunice can tell you what exactly happened and why she’s brought with herself the whole mess.”

“I entered in her cell to pleasure her while she’s asleep until she woke up a few minutes later by asking me what I was doing, therefore spitting on my face and cussing at me like a sailor! That’s intolerable behavior from a patient!”

Silence arched between the horde of adults, whilst the holy man’s hands lowered to his charcoal black trousers’, putting them in its pockets in disquietude.

In the interval, chubby, crystal twin tears trickled downward the senior blonde’s cheeks, opting to muffle and mute her snivels, staining with sticky moistness her feeble parchment complexion. The hushing silence escalated to Jude’s sunk heart and the wonderment in Dr. Arden and Mary Eunice’s enquiring, sly glares, trying to formulate scenarios of the impending words, lingering on Monsignor’s tongue tip. What the former devotional member of the clergy prayed for was that to be back in her ward for extra good night sleep and her love interest somehow to confront her tormenters.

“So Monsignor, what’s your word on her behavior?” The hoarseness in Mary Eunice’s lisp stung his ears, honing sharp words, marching from the beginning of his berry-coloured tongue, whereas it was the judgmental’s moment, weighing on its scales the senior blonde’s foes opinion and the man of the cloth’s opinion. Sluggishly gulping the lump in her drying throat, Judy blinked her partly opened eyelids as her plumpish lips popped up. “I think she deserves a lesson to be taught for such unacceptable behavior and treatment towards a nun that tries to take care of her.”

“No!” The firmness of his refutation in his attempt to stop in a halt the former Nazi war criminal and his assistant startled them as soon as they faced his darker side within seconds after usually witnessing his soft innocent side that veiled him as a casted celestial light, in fact, he’s a priest. “There’s nothing you can do about preventing her behavior and then trying to punish her with a torture!”

“E-Excuse me, Monsignor?” A wicked giggle clicked the roof of the juvenile sister of the church’s mouth, rolling her brassy tinged orbs, muffling its richness in her wicked giggle, while Dr. Arden’s rejoinder was engulfing Timothy’s nonchalance that softened his facial features as a stray puppy. “What are you doing?”

“Dr. Arden, you don’t realize how many patients disappear daily or even die in oblivion not only because of natural causes or any illnesses and then who knows where they’re located. Whether in the morgue or somewhere in the woods with your experiments by mutilating them to look like freaks!”

“I think you’re prone to believe in a madwoman, who is nothing more than an old whore and a murderer! Who are you prone more to believe, Monsignor?” Even the bizarreness in the possessed woman of the cloth’s demeanor was the core of Timothy’s doubts, articulated in his intuition and observation in the past days even when he could behold the genuine dark side of Mary Eunice just a couple of weeks after the Jed’s exorcism and his unpredictable death due to a heart attack. What it urged him was to hire another doctor and Father Malachi by the following day after and attempt to banish the vile essence out of the young blonde’s frail skeleton. The brilliance in her insight, readily reading every surrounding’s mind was inevitable trap for Timothy, instantly acknowledging and opting to belittle him with whom he teamed in the past weeks, judging Jude’s grim past with her discreet, somber secrets. “Huh? I’m afraid you still like this slutty murderer and something is awaiting you, if you dare to bring her position back to her.”

“No matter what she used to be in the past, I’m not judgmental and I’m not the one who judges her. It’s only God that judges her and is prone to give second chances to the sinners that repent!” Meanwhile, he approached with a strut up to the patient bed, his pristine fingers clumsily working on the straps, consequently unstrapping them from her neck down to her ankles. “And you don’t have the right to torture even take her life. It’s going to be not only your responsibility, but also mine. You don’t realize every patient’s life is valuable.” At the moment, the despaired inmate sat on the edge of the patient bed, cupping her face shamefacedly, trying to conceal the tears, veiling her tear-stained, pallid complexion. His strong, muscly arm curled around her mid-back, guiding her to flee the laboratory in a jiffy and their impending destination was his office, in order to console her, in spite of the security guards that worked night shifts and being incessantly in charge of guarding the abysmal, bleak hallways of the old asylum. The sluggish gait of the inmate, guided by her former boss scarcely echoed a click against the cemented flooring as they were on their way to flee.

“Monsignor, you’re only a priest, and we are the ones who have a business with this patient, whose name I don’t want even to mentio-“ All of a sudden, without turning his back, the British aristocrat cut her off curtly.

“So as the other patients should be under your care, but Jude is in right hands!” Seconds before walking away from the former Nazi war criminal’s austere office, Timothy’s caution resuscitated adrenaline and fury, pumping in Arthur and Mary Eunice’s veins, overflowing lava beneath their epidermis. Meantime, the Monsignor and Jude fled Dr. Arden’s office, pacing sluggishly in the hallway as the younger man conformed his rare bird’s locomotion, patience eased him and calmness and disquietude textured his still young-looking, palish profile. Tears and snots baptized the older woman’s palms with a clammy layer of snots and moistness, ducking her head abashedly whilst her muffle relinquished the snivel, tearing off the lethal silence in the middle of the night. “Everything is okay, Jude! Everything will be fine.”

\--- ******* ****\---

Within a couple of minutes, Timothy and Jude entered the dim light office of the head priest of the mental institution. Alabaster, tiny snowflakes, massing in a beehive whistled outside, blanketing generously with a snowy blanket everything.

Even when the ambitious Monsignor earned a handful of security guards’ inquisitive glances, they questioned themselves how the British aristocrat is capable of guiding an inmate that was already out of her cell and lodged in his office until whenever he decides, in fact, everything that motioned or was behind the dull, lifeless walls of the madhouse were his ultimate responsibility. 

In the interim, he guided her to the compact bed that was amidst the fewest furniture, adorning the en-suite bedroom, linking his office. Her rear perched on the edge of the bed until she uncupped her face in a jiff, ruddily-rimmed embers eyed him glassily, jadedly. Glint a stray spark of gratitude and speechlessness, far from believing once she put herself in the patients’ shoes after being stripped off her clerical possessions and title and losing significantly the love of her life’s trust.

“What’s all this for?” Bewilderment boiled in the pit of her stomach, whereas Timothy laid her down to kip, wrapping the duvet circa her weightless figure, shielding it from the common chilly climate. What she expected was to be retrieved back in her cell instead of being sheltered in her former boss’s office especially the en-suite bedroom.

“Shu, shu, shu, Jude! Do not pressure yourself!” He hadn’t any malicious intentions at all. As a director of the asylum, he’s also responsible for his old friend’s condition in general along with the other lunatics and staff members. An optimistically benevolent smile indicated across his baby pinkish lips, consoling his rara avis with a tight, kindhearted hug, whereas cradling her head in his toned, alabaster elbows. “It’s not your fault at all.”

“Not only she tried to rape me, furthermore teaming with Dr. Arden to torture and mutilate me and finally dumping me in the forest like some other disappeared patients!” At the thought of committing homicide towards the nymphomaniac inmate Shelley swamped with nausea and ineludible compunctions his stomach, blush flushing his neck though he couldn’t directly tell right away Judy he’s the one, who suffocated her with his chaplet and reciting a final prayer when Shelley was hospitalized and before finding her own death on its hospital bed. At the moment, his utter attention was shifted on the Bostonian and his main goal was to console her as much as possible by drifting off asleep peacefully without thinking twice agonizing herself with the events that took its place a couple of minutes ago. “She’s incredibly sadistic, and she’s possessed.” Despite the insanity that consumed her, in his humble opinion, he couldn’t agree more there. The truth was the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer wasn’t the only one who acknowledged the possession of her ex-protégé.

“You’re absolutely right she’s possessed and I must bash the demon with the help of another doctor and Father Malachi on the next morning, despite,” Stutter limped on his throat, heavy sigh flushing his chest after releasing her from the embrace as one of his colossal, veiny hands’ amusingly warm fingers traced her well-carved profile, daubing with the tad of his thumb the stream of tears. “Despite I’m afraid you should be kept for a bit longer here until you are fully cured!” His heart ached that the love of his life was involved in deeds which he could hardly believe at first until her foes blinded him to bones and Timothy must delay her release, due to his lack of trust in her lately and doubting her morality, ceasing to picture what her freedom would bear a semblance of and what she’s capable of once she joins the general population.

In the meantime, she was far from restless by flopping on the other side, scarcely facing her ex-boss and the older lady was immensely exhausted to peel a single word anymore. The sniffles subdued in the background, ceasing to tingle in the younger man’s ears, that still is comforting his rara avis. Relief prickled his electrifying epidermis, whereas shivers danced in the former woman of the cloth’s spine and bones, sedating them with the delicate touch of Timothy, grazing her cheek with a feather, delicate peck and cradling her jaw line. It wasn’t his first time touching different part of a woman’s body except for her hands.

“Sleep tight, Jude! You deserve rest!” A velvety whisper danced on his tongue, his fingers managing to play with her disheveled, silver-gilded stray tresses consolingly, lightly. Her eyes fluttered tightly shut, preventing the yellow-lamp bulb scintillating her flimsy, ruddily-rimmed eyes any longer, chewing on her lower cracked lip with its dryness of her throat.

Although Timothy had nowhere to slumber tonight, he preferred to supervise from time to time discreetly the middle-aged lady, acknowledging her condition and spending almost the entire night in catnaps on his office bureau, in case, if he falls asleep. 

** **✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞ ** ** ** **✞ ** ** ** **✞ ** ** ** **✞ ** ** ** **✞ ** ** ** **✞ ** ** ** **✞ ** **

****✞ ****_Did your presumptions come true shortly after the answer of your question from the first chapter? _ ****✞****

** **✞ ** ** _Do you trust Timothy as Jude's savior after the ruckus we witnessed in Doctor Arden's laboratory? _ ** **✞** **

** **✞ ** ** _Don't forget to leave a honest feedback with your initial impressions, if you have genuinely enjoyed and liked the chapter. :)) _ ** **✞** **


	3. God's Second Chance

** **

_✞_ **Romans 6:23**_✞_

**✞** _For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. _**✞**

**Author's Note: I know how this possible is amalgamation of Atonement (AO3) and somewhat Release (ff.net) as some of my favorite stories which aren't from Wattpad, nevertheless, I wanted to experiment with some mix and controversial plot twist that is worth at all! I hope you like and enjoy this chapter! **

\--- ******* \---

\--- _The Next Day_ \---

\--- _28th of December, 1964_ \---

The morning after approached sooner than expected.

In the wee hours of the morning, the ambitious Monsignor and Jude fled his office altogether after collecting sufficient rest through the night, in spite of the insomnia that perched on the holy priest's eyelids the last night, in fact, he's supervising per an hour his former right hand's condition until he found himself drifting off asleep on his own bureau.

As soon as the former devotional woman of the cloth had a poor-quality breakfast along with the myriad of patients and pretending to swallow her own daily medicament, subsequently Timothy after brewing his own coffee and reentering his austere office to phone Father Malachi, his mentor urgently.

When the midnight black, glossy earpiece was clung to Timothy's ear, his strong, pristine fingers curled around the earpiece, while his solely free mammoth, veiny hand grasped the plain white, porcelain mug's handle as he sipped his own morning coffee, awaiting the following phone call. An eerie flat line crinkled across his pale-pinkish, caffeine-stained lips.

Fortunately, the young possessed woman of the cloth hasn't bumped into the man of the cloth and belittling him with her daredevil game. That was a dab of relief, ameliorating his thoughts, although the imminent, unpredictable clashes that awaited between her and him if he doesn't play his own cards right and call exceedingly the senior priest for the exorcism.

"Father Malachi is talking! How can I help you, Monsignor?" The suddenness of the senior priest's answer startled the younger man, almost choking with the bubbled up lump in his throat, swigging it sluggishly though reluctance persuaded him to not cough and prevent the choke with the caffeine beverage. On other hand, relief creased between his eyebrows, clearing his throat.

"Good day, Father! We have an issue in Briarcliff even shortly after the young man's exorcism." Stutter limped on his berry-coloured tongue, whereas the angst was overflowing beneath his epidermis, adrenaline and disquietude pumping into his veins and doubling his concerns, affecting his heart beats that brake in his rib cage after the unthinkable, significant change in the juvenile woman of the cloth as a top task to bash the demon out of her frail skeleton with professional help. "This issue hasn't ceased for days and there are a few witnesses that can confirm it's absolutely true." Frown twisted upon Father Malachi's heavily wrinkled due to the relentlessly inexorable aging process, parchment complexion.

"What do you mean with this, Timothy? Is there a victim of possession in Briarcliff after Jed's heart attack and sudden death?" Sometimes Father Malachi preferred to address his protégé with his first name friendly after a couple of years collaborating altogether and accepting him as his own son figure, although his childless and unmarried status through the decades of his bland, insurmountable life, serving his ecclesiastical duties with potent efforts.

"Yes! Sister Mary Eunice is supposed to be possessed as she fainted after Jed's death. Her behavior is undeniably eccentric and nothing, compared to the normal Sister Mary Eunice we know."

"Suppose?" Emphasis was highlighted in the rhetorical, one-word inquiry of the older man, suckling on his lower lip, whereas his solely free hand's meaty fingers managed to reach for his hoary bald wire, capping his head and scrapping faintly with his small fingernails the delicate skin of his head. "Hmm, so what kind of behavior have you spotted in her as you described it eccentric lately?"

"She's vulgar and she tried to rape by pleasuring Jude in her ward, therefore due to her misbehaving, Sister Mary Eunice and Dr. Arden dragged Jude in Dr. Arden's laboratory by strapping her on the bed. This happened exactly a night ago." Hemming limped in the back of his throat, almost dying on his tongue tip when certain vulgar words which were far from adequate from a devotional member of the clergy to utter them were petering out. Unknowledgeable crystalline tear blossomed on his lower eyelid, forming a rivulet, trickling hesitantly on his cheek. Timothy has never cussed or used strong language, breaking a vow and earning the judgmental, fierce glares of God who's the only one that judged him and his deeds. "I was double checking the hallways, in case if turmoil lurked somewhere in Dr. Arden's laboratory or somewhere from the both wings that imprisoned the patients that were asleep. I was lucky I saved Jude's life and I sheltered her in my office for only one night, instead of sleeping on her own all alone in the cold night." Skepticism crinkled the senior man of the cloth's eyebrows' cusp. "She was so weak and vulnerable. She could be killed or even worse, dying slowly in pain like the tortured patients of Dr. Arden, whom I afraid he blackmailed me to illuminate everything about Briarcliff if I remove him from his position and get rid off him."

"I see! Within less than an hour the exorcism will be performed on Sister Mary Eunice." Sigh of relief flushed the British compatriot's encumbered with agony and angst chest, boiling his bile and brewing disquietude and cooking inside him with shivering coldness, swamping his lower abdomen to the untouched, unloved areas. "But the bad news is that there aren't available doctors that will help us to bash the demon. I'm sure Dr. Arden can help and be the last hope."

"That's such a shame! But, of course, Dr. Arden might be part of the exorcism and be pretty helpful. Thank you for your word, Father Malachi!" In the meantime, Sister Mary Eunice entered discreetly without knocking and keeping the head priest of the madhouse's wits about her presence along with her feminine, meek footsteps that once echoed in the profound, dim light hallway. Skepticism glinted in his cocoa brown embers, igniting its ablaze flame after adjusting the earpiece back to the phone and sipping his coffee, eyeing glassily with immense concern the juvenile blonde, studying her manners and body language. Her mouth opened n an enormous, cocky grin, alight by the older man's vulnerability and virgin-like nature. "Sister, I think you have forgotten to knock on the door at least once!" His stern caution caught her off guard without stopping her striding up to his hardwood bureau restlessly with long, small footsteps, monotonous click of her Mary Jane against the cemented flooring.

"Oh, I'm really sorry, Monsignor! I didn't realize the rules would be the same like in Sister Jude's office." The young lady pretended the guilty conscience and her irresponsibility gnawing her, pursing thoughtfully her lips, whereas the distrustful aroma of lilacs and gardenia wafted across his nostrils, amalgamating with the fresh, hot coffee's aroma shortly after being brewed and poured in its mug. Little did he know what urged the young woman's odor to doubt her momentarily even more right away after the last night's nightmare he witnessed and if he wasn't that lucky to hurry up, throughout his rare bird would be the impending victim of the former Nazi war criminal's barbarous experiments. His nostrils flared skeptically, surveying from head to toes the blonde.

"It's fine. I'm not Sister Jude to be tremendously strict, nevertheless, I dislike the rules to be broken, in the name of ignorance and lack of responsibility!" Even when the British compatriot forgave the blonde's plea as a bland excuse and her lack of self-confidence after being bullied for years and Jude's iron fist were the core of her incessant bland excuses, frequently whispering its dark inner voices and diminishing her self-esteem, despite her stamina that aided her to win abundance of battles through the years of bullying, discrimination and the loss of her biological parents at early age. "What brings you here, Sister Mary Eunice?"

"I just wanted to make sure check on you, Monsignor! Even when you brought that old whore to sleep in that linked bedroom the last night." Her brilliance of sanity meant a big trouble for the British aristocrat, opting to cope with looking after the ex-nun and the imminent exorcism as an attempt to rescue the juvenile nun's soul before it was too late.

"No matter what she used to be in her past, I am not the one to judge her and put labels on her for her actions. She was so weak and vulnerable the last night and I don't blame her."

"Aw, it's such a shame!" Her roseate, soft as satin lips parted in a baleful, haughty frown, trying to protract her fingers to pawn his shoulder until he withdrew with loathing, getting from his seat and to keep the proximity as larger as possible. "Did she try to touch or pleasure you, Monsignor? Huh?"

At the moment, Timothy shook his head in a solemn disagreement, pursing his lips pensively frustrated. His resilient silence was clearly obvious for her and his demeanor hinted her he is quite fishy lately especially since the night before when he confronted her and Arthur Arden.

"No! How would you think of this?" Once he strolled up to the office door to flee and find Dr. Arden, meantime, the young sister of the church escorted him from behind without giving up with an ease. Wicked chuckle clicked her tongue.

"You're unrealistically mistaken, Father! You don't know that this old whore loves you and thinks of you every night, touching herself and,"

"Carl! James!" The hoarseness in Timothy's croak echoed in the abysmal hall of the old asylum, seeking aid to come in no time and lock up Mary Eunice in a ward by strapping her on a bed and stripping her off her clerical possessions with a shapelessly rigid, mere patient robe-clad to her bony body.

"You won't get away with that, Father! I thought we'd be great business partners and you're in a big trouble!" Within less than a quarter a minute, a few orderlies emerged in the corridor, following docilely the Monsignor's voice emanation, marching up to Mary Eunice. Further, sufficiently heavy, masculine footsteps were approaching like shadows, casted on the young sister of the church.

"Carl and James, take Sister Mary Eunice to one of the free women's wing cells and strap her on a bed! Within less than an hour, there's going to be an exorcism!" Eloquence in his order managed the both orderlies' bobbing their heads in a strongly diligent agreement, dangling their arms around the younger woman's body, dragging her off in the corridor, in spite of her recurring writhes in their tight grapples, fluttering tightly shut her eyelids and baring balefully her ivory, still firm for her fragile age teeth.

"You won't get away with that, Monsignor! You're nothing than a narcissistic, selfish traitor that listens to a madwoman! A madwoman's toy boy!" Meanwhile, the oblivious of Timothy's nonchalance in Mary Eunice's wails, swimming behind the dull madhouse's walls, sunk the possessed holy woman's heart, scarcely believing her goose is going to be cooked within the exorcism and possibly fainting haphazardly. Overwhelmness plagued the British compatriot's vortex of thoughts, a heavy sigh flushing his nostrils with its surged fresh, encumbering oxygen and ambling up to his forthcoming destination without thinking twice of the events that took its place a few minutes ago. It deeply hurt him how he betrayed Jude and Mary Eunice, but his alternatives were limited nonetheless, offering him the once innocent young nun's salvation and taking care of his rara avis unless the circumstances convince his spontaneous opinion change in imprisoning her against her will.

On one hand, the possessed holy woman's words stung his pair of chocolate brown pools with the warmest and most vibrant chocolate, widened in the realization the weighed scales of her words and his feelings, equalized as one. Dozens of truths emphasized her utterance about his genuine feelings for the Bostonian. Timothy genuinely loved Judy yet and had deeply intensifying feelings for her without exposing them to her at all. Mary Eunice knew why he sheltered his rare bird in his office the night before and having benevolent intentions over her, in spite of his lacking trust in her demeanor. On other hand, what the British aristocrat hankered more than anything was his facial features' and body language to be arcanely readable by anybody even the people who knew him and Judy. He had no intentions of releasing and according the middle-aged woman's arranged release soon unless the trial or further circumstances such as Mother Claudia menacing his reputation and entire hard work, invested in his celestial dream of rising in the high tiers of the diocese as the highest priority until Jude's release or reimposition to her position which she used to be.

Forbidden love and forbidden feelings were the top questions that whirled and twirled in the ambitious Monsignor's whirlpool of thoughts.

\--- ******* \---

\--- _An Hour Later_ \---

Within an hour, Father Malachi, Dr. Arden and Timothy were in the ward for bashing the vile essence from Mary Eunice's frail skeleton even when at first the senior doctor of science disagreed and he hadn't any intentions of participating in the exorcism, menacing his heartache if he loses his once favorite innocent young nun after the vile essence dwells out of her identity.

In the meanwhile, the patients were overcrowding the common room, despite Jude was sitting on the tattered couch by herself, taking a drag at her cigar and puffing pungent smoke with her mouth, agape in a soft O. The frequent playing on looped Dominique song was tingling miserable tunes into her sensitive, petite ears.

As soon as the both members of the church and the doctor of science set a foot in the poorly adorned cell, the exorcism begun with recited in a croak prayers out loud, fizzle the Satan's chances of winning the battle and defeating the young woman with a heart attack. In the interval, Mary Eunice writhed her feeble body muscles, urging the fight against the prayers and the trusses on her ankles, wrists and throat. The dim golden daylight filtered the naturally bathed in light cell through the battered wall window, warmly blanketing Mary Eunice's stark, palish legs with its patient's gown hem flaring across her round, knobby knees. Her youthfully flossy aureate long mop of tresses was ruffled on the cotton, convenient pillow.

"You can't do this to me. You fucking piggies!" What the smitten young woman of the cloth disregarded was her strong language, series of desperate bewails with her deep, infernal voice accentuating them. "Once a traitor, always a traitor! I didn't know you will do this to me, Dr. Arden! I trusted you with my life." She turned to face the former Nazi, gritting maliciously her ivory, still firm teeth, whereas he gawked at her, glimmering azure, translucent tears submerging his sapphire blue orbs, quietly weeping while supervising her on the right side of the patient bed, whereas the both priests made the Sign of the Cross and recited prayers from the Holy Bible without an ado.

"Don't listen to the demon, Doctor! Focus on your business." The senior holy man advised Arthur though the horde of men overlooked and opted to focus on rescue the taintless identity of Mary Eunice, scarcely glimpsing at her insults, trying to test their patience as well.

"Monsignor, I think your favorite old slut misses your big hard-on into her smelly clam between her legs!" Heinous guffaw floated from the young blonde's rosy-coloured lips, grinning complacently and bloodily at him, turning to face him with a sinister stare, draining his soul off. Generous layer of blush touched Timothy's chubby, well-carved cheeks, whilst ignoring her utterance and utterly dedicating his time on the prayers, his rosary beads wrapped around his fingers. Attractive veil of perspiration veiled his young-looking, lily-white complexion, faintly cooling his facial skin. "And that's why you're the town pump's favorite beau, aren't you? Didn't you know that your favorite town pump is touching herself every night, thinking of you?" In the interim, the exorcism was progressing with luxurious series of prayers and wretched wails as a background sound, reproducing a tune. "Oh, Timothy, don't stop, please! Oh God, Monsignor, you're so huge! I didn't know the priests that huge are." The Satan's taunts and mimicking the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's sultry moans and groans engulfed the younger man's stamina, peeling off the iron armor of his heart and the blanched veil, veiling overally his face and powdering with shamefaced, unhealthy cherry hues.

"Don't listen to it! It's all lies." Father Malachi insisted, whilst mumbling a mouthful of prayers until the former woman of the cloth collapsed on the pillow, snivels whacking her, cupping her face with the palms of her petite hands.

"Argghhh!'

"Mary Eunice, everything will be fine! The demon is finally released from your body." In the interval, the younger man crouched down, cradling the young lady's head in a kindhearted, warm embrace with his toned forearms, shushing consolingly emboldening. "It's not your fault at all. You're safe and sound! You deserve to rest!"

\--- ***** **\---

\--- A Few Hours Later or So ---

After the successful exorcism and rescuing the taintless soul of Mary Eunice's identity, consequently she was housed in her own ward to collect extra rest through the daylight hours.

In the meanwhile, the symphony, looping as a background sound of babbling lunatics, some of them banging bluntly restlessly their heads in the brick walls and the incessant French song on the recording player playing in the expansive room tingled the epitome of the real insanity and wretchedness, reigning behind the dully lifeless walls of the mental institution.

What it baffled and flabbergasted the Bostonian was her ex-protégé's absence today and for not bumping into her with her fiendish game with its crucial goal of testing the former licentious nightclub singer's patience.

All of a sudden, what it caught off guard the middle-aged woman was the double common room door opened as Timothy ambled up to her to check on her since it was his obligation acknowledging her condition in general.

In the meanwhile, the former holy woman's smile spread across her lips soothingly at the sight of the younger man, who approached her.

"How is Sister Mary Eunice?"

"She fought so hard and fortunately, the demon is bashed! She's currently resting in her own ward." Sigh of relief indicated the blonde's pride and euphoria, chewing on her lower plump roseate lip with her front teeth. Her heart leaped promptly.

"That's such a relief!"

"I truly believe she's so strong."

"T-Timothy," Meantime, she cut him off curtly, emphasizing his name, whereas quirk contoured his thickly dark eyebrow at her emphasis."I was thinking this, in fact, you really enjoyed my culinary skills and like my cooking," Stammer limped in the back of her throat, swallowing hard during the brief pause, whilst the younger man didn't dare to interrupt her, showing signs of disrespect and blatant manners, due to a galore of simple reasons. Their friendship with the controversial stability, due to its sudden betrayal and toxicity. She was his rare bird. In spite of her inferior position, wearing undeservedly, it didn't hurt him to listen to her when it was her turn to express her own thoughts. Nostalgia swamped the pit of her almost empty stomach. "I know there's almost nothing much to do there and thanks to my culinary skills, I could do something for both of us! For the old time's sake?"

"Jude, I'm afraid your treatment and therapy should be ongoing instead of investing your efforts in feeding the entire staff! All I can advise you are to rest and invest in your cooking skills in baking bread in the pantry." An eerie flat line flattened the curve of his baby pinkish lips, holding her gaze with nonchalance.

"That's true, Father! However, I truly missed the times when I cooked a meal for both of us. And I strongly promise the meal will be on much smaller scale. It will be just for both of us." In the meantime, headstrong adrenaline pumped flimsily into her veins, overflowing with lava at her former boss's stubbornness and calmness clashing with the coq-au-vin offer. "It won't hurt to have a coq-au-vin for the old time's sake in the name of our friendship and Sister Mary Eunice's victory over the devil! And it will be a quiet evening for both of us and once we finish the meal, I'll go back in my ward and you will do yar own business."

Although the British aristocrat's controversial thoughts, weighing its scales whether to trust his instincts by declining with all respect the dinner offer or on the contrary accept it as an occasion of their ongoing friendship, he reconsidered his rara avis's suggestion with a half a minute pause and doubting any harm in sharing a dinner with his once favorite holy woman.

"Since we've been friends for a long time and you consider me as a danger or having malicious intentions of harming ya, what's yar word on it?" Suddenly the former sleazy nightclub singer broke off the silence with her haphazard enquiry. Smile glittered a thousand of optimistic, bright patterns, flashed upon her parchment, pallid complexion.

"Since it has been awhile I've enjoyed your meals, I'm completely sure you need arranged assistance in the dinner preparation."

"Help?" The huskiness of her wry chuckle didn't ebb out, muffling it with one of her hands. "I never needed help before."

"Alright, Jude! This Thursday at seven o'clock we can have our dinner."

"I thought Friday would work for you?" The rhetoric nuances in her inquiry mildly irritated him.

"Jude, I don't understand what difference in the days bothers you? Why, tho?"

"Fridays were like always my favorite days to cook and prepare a meal."

"Fine! So it's Friday in eight o'clock the arranged dinner as I've to visit some places."

Within a handful of minutes after the priest exited the common room and conversating his former co-worker about their arranged coq-au-vin Friday dinner night, the Bostonian still pondered whether if Timothy is going to be sincere and keep their arrangement within a couple of days only without thinking twice of altering his hectic daily schedule.

Little did the Bostonian know how their forthcoming coq-au-vin Friday dinner night will pass and is it a good idea to achieve somehow his trust back again and decreasing the chances of her imprisonment inside the facility. 

****✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ****✞** ** ** **✞** **

****✞ ****_Do you think we should trust the appointment Jude and Timothy organized for Friday night as well?_ ****✞****

** **✞ ** ** _Do you think Jude will be imprisoned in Briarcliff for longer, according to Timothy's words? _ ** **✞** **

**** ** **✞ ** ** _Don't forget to leave a honest feedback with your initial impressions, if you have genuinely enjoyed and liked the chapter. :)) _ ** **✞** **


	4. Dinner For a Second Chance or Mirage

\--- ******* \---

\--- _A Couple of Days Later_ \---

\--- _1st of January, 1965_ \---

Shortly after Mary Eunice's recover from the severe pangs, knotting her bones and muscles along with her thoughts during and post exorcism, she was conveyed in different institution somewhere in Boston. Institution, reinstituted by the Mother Superior and determining her inability of not being capable of running a facility for criminally insane with authority and iron fist like the former administrator of Briarcliff, whose clerical possessions were stripped from her and the unexpected ending destined her to spend the rest of her days behind the dull walls of the notorious madhouse.

Further, the former holy woman hasn't acknowledged her ex-protégé's abolishment from Briarcliff and her transfer to other institution with fewer responsibilities encumbering her daily schedule. Nobody has informed her yet. Perhaps it was for her good. Or perhaps, despair could bandage her heart with numbness and melancholy for being for years together and now her transfer wouldn't be a warm welcome at all.

During the week days, the ambitious Monsignor paid a visit to special places where his appearance was necessary in the daylight episode of the days, whilst returning to madhouse in the wee hours of the night and supervising his former right hand in her ward.

Once Sister Mary Eunice was no longer a head nun of Briarcliff, the crucial task was to find a replacement of the young nun, whose replacement was actually Sister Bernadette. Sister Bernadette and Timothy's visions and worldviews brightly contrasted due to their huge age gap, in fact, the newly chosen head holy woman of the mental institution was somewhere in her sixties even with a couple of years Jude's senior. Furthermore, they shared different visions and Bernadette was far from better leader than her progenitors. Sometimes she and the aspiring holy priest had obnoxious, mutual disagreements that were the crucial reasons why some of her decisions weren't providing the best supplies, medicaments and aid for the patients even for the staff.

As soon as Friday or rather the end of the week approached sooner than the expected for Jude, whose ablaze impatience ignited adrenaline, pumping into her veins and awaiting the days of hollow with her childlike jitteriness by expending every second of her valuable time in the common room with socializing Lana and Kit even Pepper and arranging somehow Lana and Kit's releases to happen within days. In the beginning of the week, the Bostonian has conversated the both innocent inmates and arranging their release via the future Cardinal's signature on their release's documents, in order to grant them the freedom they have yearned for, and they genuinely deserve rather. At first, Jude wasn't utterly trusted by her both frenemies, and they thought their arranged release could be somehow a joke until she genuinely persuaded them that her stable friendship with Timothy and being together for years is going to take a toll on diminishing the chances of disbelief.

In the wee hours of the evening whilst the bakery was crowded by a couple of lunatics, outnumbering the former pious sister of the church, whose utter attention was shifted to the dinner preparation on small scales for her and the love of her life, Jude spent almost an hour in the bakery and overlooking some mockeries, interposed by certain lunatics that weren't very fond of her even during her nunnery.

The amalgamation of urine, freshly baked bread and scum reek navigated its air waves along with the freshly baked coq-au-vin aroma in the oven quickly sweetened the stir and reek in the bakery in a jiff. Smugness contoured the former licentious jazz nightclub singer's facial features with a generous powder of cherry blush, powdering her bony, well-carved cheeks. Perspiration veiled her face after chopping the veggies persistently and the sweltering, invisible air from the oven caressed her facial features, glimmering headstrong perspiration.

When the coq-au-vin lastly was zapped in the oven and served in two separate, clean plates with silverware eating tools, consequently she carried warily the tray, scarcely having any intentions of distracting herself with further things. The dinner was ready. It was almost eight o'clock. Moreover, the former promiscuous nightclub singer opted to evade detection from the staff members' supervision in the abysmal, dim light hallways and commence to question her with galore of questions with ludicrous answers.

Once the blonde paced in the profound corridor with the tray of silverware eating tools and plates with served meals by standing beside the British compatriot's office, fashioning in a balled fist her elvish, pale as ghost hand, rapping on the office door lightly, kindly until his British lilt echoed.

"Just a second!" Meantime, he snatched his pair of eyeglasses, tossing them on the bureau by clearing large space on the hardwood bureau, in order to set the tray and approaching the door, opening it and holding it gentlemanly while stepping aside to allow the former holy woman step inside his office with the tray and setting it on the bureau. "Good evening, Monsignor!" Politeness accentuated her utterance, followed by a faint door slam behind her as its owner ambled up to the desk, his cocoa brown pools were fixed on her and the platter, trying to not admire her disheveled long mop of golden curls, piled up on her shoulders and gracefully framing her round, full profile.

"Good evening, Jude! I've to admit that I was strongly looking forward to this dinner night since the beginning of this week." Amusement airbrushed her facial features, attempting to slaughter the giggle, recurringly limping in her throat at his confession, a fountain of honesty and candor. Childlike elation glimmered their dark eyes, alight by agitation to sit against one another, spend a few hours altogether in friendly and not so much disquiet discussions. They didn't have so much to talk since she's a madwoman against her will and he's just the love of her life, raised in the high tiers of the church. Or possibly having abundance of thoughts on their minds to share with each other after it's been awhile they spent a few hours ventilating plenty of topics. "I haven't had a decent home cooked meal in a long time. I'm not pretty good cook at all." As soon as they seated against one another, he researched one of the drawers of his desk, the man of the cloth retrieved finely aged, untouched old bottle of cognac after Jude's stored paraphernalia in a box were donated to the church except the bottle of cognac and the extravagant satin bloody red negligee after finding out that Mary Eunice snatched it from her possessions.

The mouth-watering, sweet fragrance of coq-au-vin wasn't disappointing the man of the cloth, wafting its alluring fragrance across his nose after placing the cognac and the still unused scotch glasses, filling sufficiently the free space.

"I thought I'd bring the old cognac. I guess I wasn't thinking that you can't drink cognac, considering yar took vow-" Her frail, dexterous fingers were curled around the fork and dinner knife, whereas the younger man was pouring the sinful alcoholic beverage in their glasses promptly, flabbergasted by her consternation and quirking a dark, thin eyebrow quizzically, due to the fact Timothy has devoted himself to the church for a handful of decades, solemnly taking his vows of celibacy, poverty and chastity, in spite of his roots' ginormous wealth.

"It's alright. Just because I'm a priest and I've took a vow of not drinking, that doesn't mean I can't drink once in a while." His nonchalance and wisdom were far from unamusing for the older lady by cutting her off curtly as they both savored their very first bites from the scrumptious dinner meal. "Anyway the meal is delighting." Content smile creased across the younger man's pale-pinkish, damp lips after savoring the first bite, whilst the former devotional sister of the church's girlish, solely distinctive snigger clicked the roof of her mouth after munching her first bite and tossing in the platter the dinner knife, her hand managing to reach for the scotch glass with the poured liquor, sipping a handful of guiltless gulps, lacing her tongue with the saccharine lace of cognac.

"You've been always so kind and open-minded especially when it comes up to my culinary skills, Monsignor!"

"No wonder why I wanted this bottle of cognac to be a surprise for this dinner, in fact, I found it somewhere with your old paraphernalia!"

Unconsidered silence arched between the both adults, masticating their dishes in silence as the sole background noises were echoing the austerely hushed office were their jaws operating the chunks of pot roast, tickling their tongues and frittered as ocean of puzzle fragments until their throats managed double gulps.

"I'd like to know from where you obtained this cognac." The childlike inquisitiveness in the British aristocrat's rhetorical enquiry reasoned the blonde's smug, mischievous grin, perching in the corners of her damp, naturally roseate lips.

"I can't tell you that. I can't leak every secret of mine but I'll tell you that it's the last ever bottle around that is findable." In the meanwhile, strong fingers, grasping spirally the scotch glass surreptitiously messaged in a mere eye scan of Timothy's glance something discreet though his mind didn't ultimately formulate what she truly meant with it except sipping of her glass of aged liquor. "Don't ya like the cognac, Timothy?" Somehow even when they didn't use to be that close during her nunnery, the blonde quickly found herself feeling like home in the British compatriot's trustworthy company, judging his calm, bashful and benevolent nature.

"I like it. It's a great addition to the good company and the spectacular food!" After his first savor from the cognac, his jaw line constricted the liquor, oddly fluttering his eyelids shut in tiny slits though his body and tongue approved the liquor, figuring out his taste eventually. Although his vows, the holy man bizarrely found himself liking the alcoholic beverage and cushioning the judgmental, fierce God's glares, casting a shadow on his parchment, young-looking yet complexion. "I've to admit I have drunk a few times liquor ever in my entire life."

"It's not bad spoiling yarself with liquor on special occasions and events, but why a few times only?" Incredulity crinkled her eyebrows' cusp, raising an arch of her eyebrow in his straightforward confession.

"I wasn't in the drinking at all and my mother's tremendously pious, telling me that drinking leads to sin and God will punish me for my lack of control. I followed her advice otherwise though I secretly drank a few times during special occasions liquor without her knowledge." Frown twisted upon the middle-aged woman's rosy-coloured lips.

"Your mother can say whatever she wants, but it doesn't hurt to drink a bit from it at all sometimes." The topic about the alcohol was dumbfoundingly sensitive for Jude, recalling the events from her past life as a promiscuous jazz nightclub singer, where the alcohol was the medicine to numb the heartbreaks and severe pain and agony of her first ever romantic relationship with her former fiancé. "Anyway I'd like to propose a toast. In the name of our friendship!" The suddenness of ebbed off frown, replaced with an optimistic, glowing smile, smeared across her lips glinted bliss and controversial hints of bewilderment. Bewilderment in the closeness of their inseparable bond the rustiness of its chains they used to have until it rusted after her abolishment as an administrator of the facility as the abolishment from the church and stripping her off from each clerical possession was partly his responsibility. Despite the relentless circumstances, they raised a toast, looking up at one another's faces during the raised toast and throughout sipping their glasses of cognac.

The dinner and the conversation flow smoothly as an attempt of dins' congregation in the wee hours of the evening. Notwithstanding the circumstances, the ambitious Monsignor avoided delivering hints of Mary Eunice, in order to arouse the older lady's peculiar inquisitiveness and starting with the swarm of questions, outnumbering the positivism and harmony they shared along within one night after the betrayal. Timothy slyly reconsidered it wouldn't be a good idea of leaking any information about the current occupation and residence of the former Briarcliff's administrator. He had no intentions of upsetting her at all.

As soon as their glasses and plates were emptied, the blonde removed the tap of cognac's fragile bottle until the younger man's pristinely clumsy, strong fingers webbed, forming a spider web on the rim of the scotch glass, declining for a bonus drink offer, shaking his head meekly.

"Wouldn't ya care for one more glass, Monsignor?"

"No, no, it was enough!" Although the declined offer for a second glass of liquor, the corners of his mouth scorched potently and his anatomy was ferociously singening his bones and muscles, reclining carelessly on his chair though the bulge, punctured beneath his trousers and heavy sigh elaborating his lungs. "I don't want the liquor to come a bit too much for me." Eventually the British aristocrat has never felt that relaxed to bones. Idiotically uncontrollable grin inclined his facial muscles to manipulate his cherub lips upward. His chocolate brown pools with the warmest chocolate mottling his irises fatigue-shimmered, squinting up at the Bostonian who poured for herself a second glass of cognac, thereafter swigging it within a couple of seconds greedily. Speechlessness illuminated his rebuking, giddy due to the inebriation stare at her for the alcohol taking a toll on both of them.

All of a sudden, the middle-aged lady revolved, approaching intoxicatingly him. Just a handful of inches proximity was enough uncomfortable for him when the gap was almost sealed with her petite frame, clad in patient gown with a few undone buttons, partly exposing her collarbone and cleavage's milky as oyster-white, insatiable flesh. Electrifying beehive of goosebumps pinked his epidermis at her seductive, succumbing ogle with arcanely boiling emotions and feelings behind her promising honey brown embers, igniting its pyro barriers. They were unreadable at all. Only Judy knew what exactly maintained as an ablaze flame, caging inside her pupils. Her smile was unusually slinky, wearing a thousand patterns of flirtatiousness and seduction. Flourishing its own threats and consequences as already planted seeds of the patient Succubus and her infernal intentions. His chocolate brown irises surveyed her from head to toes, having a tough time managing to gulp a lump in the full, graceful profile of the love of his life. Silence hushed the limping words, whether dark or light on their tongue tips.

Once the former religious woman of the cloth noticed agitatedly the aroused crotch area, salivating unknowledgeably her pink lips, solely distinctive for her in the enticing sensation of saliva perching its light sticky rivulet, forming horizontally her lower plumpish lip's line.

"Timothy, may I ask ya a personal question?" Meek, sheepish nod in solemn agreement encouraged her to resume her monologue. "Have you ever thought of being married? How about having children?" In the interval, she crouched down, squatting beside him as the neckline of her rigidly shapeless patient robe's unbuttoned buttons exposed the neckline's aperture of full, firmly shaped, far from adequate for his eye breasts, having a clear view of them, while eyeing enamoredly the gap between her pallid complexion and the diabolically scoffing cleavage. "Or at least, wonder what it would be like having a relationship with a woman?" His vortex of thoughts attempted to formulate his thoughts, clashing with the delirious horniness to reply her posed question with the most possible, rational even honest reply she's seeking. Delirious horniness intoxicatingly affecting his masculine anatomy and the former nun fathoming how beneficially affected every man with her cure. The technical and mechanical fragments of seduction even the least experienced in sexual and romantic activities, goading the both sides equally though slightly more the pristine, taintless. After abundance of men teasing enticingly and hedonistically and being between her legs and being spellbinded by her touch and charm, consequently the British aristocrat wasn't an exceptional candidate at all.

"I've thought about it, but as you can see, I'm already married to God and I took a vow!" Meantime, her fingers managed to low, reaching for his charcoal black, wool blazer, playing with the fabric absentmindedly. "We can't do this." The motion of her feather fingertips cradling the blazer's fabric was scorchingly ticklish for Timothy, opting to stifle a chuckle, following in the corner of his ember the delicate, succumbing touch.

"I see the blazer is quite uncomfortable. Why don't we take it off? Huh?" The hoarseness in her Bostonian lilt was tingling angelic anthems for her.

At the moment, the Monsignor protracted his muscular, toned arms in the air, aiding somehow his rara avis to strip off his jacket from his frail skeleton with an ease, consequently wrapped around his chair's back.

Sheepishly boyish smirk blurred the corners of his baby pinkish, cognac-stained lips, while her fingers swayed up to his chestnut, soft hair, playfully raking its hairs. He lifted up his gaze, meeting her, glowing and complacent than never.

"Jude, what are you doing?" His honeyed, low voice conjugated the enquiry, almost absentminded and dedicated to the recurring touch and play with his chestnut hair, longing for it up to timeless termination.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Her lips parted in a mischievous scoff, scarcely flattening her upper lip, leaning against him as their faces divided them almost no inch distance. Her warm, coq-au-vin and cognac-stained breath fanned lightly his facial skin as a cradling, mother touch, caressing her newborn child's cheek. "Don't you like it at least?"

"Jude, I-I cannot!" Stutter continuously limped on his tongue, whereas crystalline fat impulsive tears rimmed his brittle eyelids in his inability to control, whereas Jude's other petite, smooth hand's fingers lowered to his chin, tracing his jaw line delicately. "I took a vow. We just can't fool around!"

"So as did ya fool around and kept yar vow whenever I go ya go, did you keep it?" Reminder in the sharpness of her resonance didn't startle him with exception to shuffling bashfully his feet, his hand reached for hers that was cradling jaw, the largeness pawing hers and fitting ideally. Then, her hand manipulated his by ushering to claw her round, firm breast. Gasp surged from the top of her frail lungs, warmness bristled her epidermis in the molting sensation. "It was a promise and do not pretend we have never promised something each other!" The flat surface of his palm cupped her breast, unfamiliarity soon elaborated his mind and the true notion of what exactly aroused symptoms of horniness not only from the point of a man's view, but also woman's. Altruistically assimilating the both sides' effects of the sinful touch, consciously breaking a vow.

Suddenly the reins of his vows no longer knotted his thoughts, impulsively allowing his solely free muscly, strong arm to dangle around her waist, guiding her to seat on his lap as his bulge pokes her rear. The lethal silence suffocated the pleas and protests, dying in a whisper in their throats. He swallowed hard when he felt her rear rotating, whilst the blonde readjusted her seating position, snaking graciously her drop-dead gorgeous leanly long as towers legs around his waist, trapping him with no inch of breathing properly for a single second. His tongue verged conjugating a plea or another bland, insurmountable caution, keeping the former sleazy nightclub singer's wits about his vows and his menaced career. Her fingers knotted the nape of his neck, their lips barely an inch from one another.

"I-It's true!"

"So as it's true, just keep to yar word!"

****✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ** ****✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞** ******✞****

**✞ ** _What are your genuine thoughts on Timothy and Jude's dinner night they shared with each other? _ ** **✞** **

****✞ ****_Do you think it's possible Jude and Timothy to be back in the game as a couple with the pretty sultry cliffhanger? _ ****✞****

** **✞ ** ** _Don't forget to leave a honest feedback with your initial impressions, if you have genuinely enjoyed and liked the chapter. :)) _ ** **✞** **


	5. Jekyll and Hyde

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**Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for not updating this story for almost 4 days, nevertheless, I had a bit author's block and I was crucially focused on getting a new chapter of Wings of Light, because I don't want to postpone with more than a week with the updates. Furthermore, I'd like to apologize if the smut is slightly early, nevertheless, after the smut more dynamic roller coaster of drama and trials are awaiting the protagonists as much as answered questions to the readers.**

**Anyway I hope you like and enjoy this chapter though it's only smut and it's nothing interesting at all. ;) <33**

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All of a sudden, when their porcelain, alabaster faces’ proximity sewed the gap with barely an inch, almost their facial skins brushing delicately along with their cherub lips, unnerved gasp floated subtly Timothy’s mouth, the amalgamation of warmness, coq-au-vin and cognac stained breath fanning the former pious sister of the church’s face, mapping her overall epidermis with electrifying goosebumps. Her succumbing hazelish-brown embers, ignited infernal flame of lust, desire, love and warmness, vibrantly contrasting the ambitious Monsignor’s cocoa brown embers, igniting sheer innocence, celibacy, warmness and somewhat desire and love. The desire and lust were foreign for him. He’s like a curios child, just like Adam and exploring the outer world of the hallowed icons, the abbeys, the papacy’s arms and the prayers which were weaker than the devil and shadows’ malicious intentions, reckoning the foreign emotions and feelings even sexual experience.

Perhaps Timothy could be advised in his earlier years by his parents or older siblings that one day he’d be head over heels in love with a woman of his dreams and most of all create their own stable family with adorable and precious children. On the contrary, the member of the clergy couldn’t listen to his family’s advises and missing the boat of being a family man within joining the church shortly after entering in the timeless, crudely cold world of the adulthood where there’s no second chance or rather, the second chances were rarely regarded as a third wheel for its precursors to learn from their own mistakes and try their best to raise in the highest tiers of success.

Fear of rejection and stopping in a halt the romantic act, the younger man’s breathing was heavier and rustier than moments ago. He’d to admit that his rare bird out of her once bones-clad in conservatively dark wool, rigidly shapeless attires of the church and having a better vision of her full profile and petite-frame were just far from disappointing for his pristine chocolate brown pools, scintillated by the patient Succubus. Her seductive caramel brown pools, engulfing the priest’s self-esteem and scintillating luster rimming the warmest, most vibrant caramel brown fixed on him. The most radiant, keeping the deepest, most somber secrets and debarring its strawberry tongue to reproduce the secret’s anthem smile, scintillating him along with her ogle. Her lion mane of disheveled old Hollywood gilded tresses, piled up on her dainty shoulders and framing exquisitely her round, full profile. Even without lavish gloss, the tresses were astoundingly distracting.

After the ambitious Monsignor’s pale-pinkish lips pressed in a hardening, sultry kiss on the patient’s roseate, soft as satin lips which complacently surprised the patient, due to the fact, the love of her life takes the first further step, whereas his both mammoth, veiny hands steadily held her slim waist. Their irises fluttered shut, molting in the kiss and alienating from their once solemnly took vows especially in British compatriot’s case. What it mesmerized the older lady was that the holy man wasn’t forced and everything seemed realistically natural. Oblivious reality muted their concerns and compunctions.

Despite the younger man’s career was menaced to go downhill after getting laid with one of the patients behind the dull infamous asylum’s walls and earning the rebuking, judgmental glares of God that were darted to him and his lover, who’ll own his virtue, intoxication sedated his muscles, bones and his thoughts by impeding them to function adequately and reminders in the form of dark inner voices echo him before his impulse.

In the meantime, his pristine, strong fingers cradled her slim, breathtaking curves through her rigidly shapeless patient gown. Jude’s long as flute stings fingers managed to reach for his chestnut hair, combing it with her fingers’ knuckles as a rich, mature harvest.

As the kiss progressed, growing into ferociously savage and savoring one another’s sweetness of their mouths, their berry-coloured, cognac-stained wet tongues commenced dancing though the former pious sister of the church could promptly note something was off by judging how childlike insecurity peeled off the plate, stable armor of self-confidence from the British aristocrat’s incessantly throbbing heart in his ribcage. The heart rate’s significant increase was catastrophically for him, blush flushing his neck whilst his strawberry-coloured tongue danced awkwardly, uneasily against Jude’s.

“Is anything wrong, Timothy? Do ya want us to stop it?” Suddenly the blonde murmured an enquiry in low, husky voice until she plugged her tongue into his mouth, deepening in a French kiss without breaking it off.

“No, no! Of course not! I’m just scared I’m not doing it properly.” At the moment, the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s rear was riding his thighs, whilst her folds were already drenched and hankering shrillingly after the bulge poked haphazardly her pubic bone and seeked its cavern. “And I truly want it.”

“Don’t worry, darling! You’re doing it definitely amazing.” Girlish, coy giggle tingled angelic anthems into his sensitive ears along with her guttural, rusty moans and groans. “I’ll teach ya only if ya take me to the bed in the other room.” Meekly the aspiring man of the cloth lugged by the waist the blonde, scooting up to the en-suite bedroom without breaking off the French kiss, whose still firm, ivory teeth for her age suckled on his lower baby-pinkish, plumpish lip.

The Boston, honeyed lilt in accentuating the friendly nickname to Timothy sent shivers of pleasure, sweetness and mild embarrassment down his body until he dropped the former devotional woman of the cloth on the bed after stepping inside the en-suite bedroom.

“Now get me rid off this tiresome gown!” Meantime, his fingers clumsily lifted up her patient robe’s hem up to her abdomen until it was stripped off from her frail skeleton, tossed in a discarded, disheveled manner on the cemented, chilly flooring. Jude’s petite frame was donned in nothing else than her mere pair of oyster-white underwear, sensually hugging her buttocks and her round, firmly full breasts as they broke off the kiss for awhile, whilst Timothy’s pulse exhorted him to take off his sweater along with his shirt after undoing the headstrong buttons and peel off like a shed snake skin from his figure. The gloat, stifling his despondency contoured his charming, yet youthful facial features. “Let me unbuckle it for you!” Suddenly a petite, stubborn hand pawed his leather belt, catching him off guard when he verged to unbutton the last buttons of his sheerly white, cozy shirt as she dragged him by unbuckling the belt with her dexterous, ardently anticipating to tease his member and its purple eagerness glimmer its fountain of vanilla semen after playing her own cards right.

In the interval, the man of the cloth mildly leaned as his hands were working on her bra, consequently unclasping it in delicate motion, whilst his masculine, satin fingers massaged her shoulder blades featherly, admiring its anatomy, whereas peppering her shoulders and downward to her mid-back with tender, dainty kisses. Once the older lady snatched the charcoal black slacks from his long as towers legs until they pooled his ankles and discarding them with the rigid, tiresome gown, he climbed on top of the middle-aged woman as he shifted his lips back to her delicate, pale neck, peppering it with feather, affectionate kisses until they escalated to ferociously aggressive and using technically his teeth to nibble its alabaster flesh.

Meantime, sore, hedonistic moans and groans floated from her throat, whilst her fingers drifted up to his shirt, peeling it off from his toned torso and bluntly chucking it with the pile of stripped garments, subsequently her fingers were playing in recurring rhythm with his dark hair, admiring its fresh, crispy softness.

“Oh fucking Christ!” What the Bostonian cussed was far from avertable, cocking back her head and giving him a better access to her alabaster neck, chewing on her lower plump lip cocksurely. “Don’t stop! Yar doing a great job.” Encouragement laced her persistent caution, tightly shutting her eyelids. Then her medium-sized fingernails scraped downward his toned, coated in a generous layer of perspiration back, leaving wild tracks of her feminine, steamy territory. Light-heavy, freshly mauve hickeys tinted Judy’s neck after Timothy teased its delicate, alabaster flesh by slithering his berry-coloured, damp lips downward, indicating squarely her skinny chest until his lips contacted her bosom, cupping with one of his colossal, smooth hands her firm, round breast, whilst his strawberry-coloured, wet tongue twirled and teased her erected nipple and mauve areola until his lips contracted, suckling on her erected, tiny nipple. “Oh God!” The former sleazy nightclub singer bleated series of moans and groans. Meantime, the chilly common climate in the mental institution pinpricked their exposed skins with bristled goosebumps and cooling down with unease their already warmed bodies in a swept up warm embrace.

Thereafter his lips returned to her in a hardening, steamy kiss whilst she guided his solely free hand down to her oyster-white, cotton panties by kneading the bundle of nerves in slow pace initially until coziness dwelled in their embrace.

“Oh Jude, you’re a perfection!” The British compatriot was in awe to admire the love of his life’s insatiable, breathy curves as he planted series of affectionate, light kisses all over her small, round stomach after the brief kiss they melted in. In the meanwhile, her hard clit yearned for his touch and his fingers lingering in its hardness.

“So as yar actually the beauty here and yar made for me!”

“I’ve to agree we’re made for each other but you’re the beauty there.” He corrected her curtly after yanking her panties which was the sole garment that hugged her petite frame and accumulating with the rich pile of discarded attires. In the interim, the younger man started nipping the swollen bud with his teeth, scraping its sensitive skin and salivating it, whilst his hands spread widely her legs, giving him a better access to her core. “Oh my goodness!”

“Yar mouth is doing wonders to me.” Judy ran slowly but surely her fingers all over her torso, admiring her ageless swan curves and twirling his pink tongue circa her erected clit, while the Bostonian clawed her breasts in the palms, pressing the flat surface of her creamy palms onto her hard nipples. After teasing her swollen bud with tongue, throughout the tad of his thumb rubbed on circles steadily and swiftly. Meanwhile, the former licentious jazz nightclub singer rotated her hips. “Fucking Christ! Don’t stop!” She reprimanded with raspy, rusty undertone, mewling past his ear after he grabbed her lips in a sultry, brief kiss whilst her fingers were working on his waistband boxers persistently until they were tossed carelessly out of their love nest at last. He finally was on top of her and grabbing his member by massaging her drenched folds with the hardness of his member, louder moan floating from the top of her brittle lungs.

Within a half a minute she positioned his member at her entrance, opening their eyelids, in order to admire one another’s enchanting facial features seconds before the thrusts. In the interval, they cupped one another’s faces in the palms of their smooth, milky as vanilla hands as their bare chests were pressed, sensing the vehement heart rate, hammering altogether. Megawatt grin mouthed the blonde’s mouth, whereas the controversial ambiguous smile of insecurity and complacency parted the British aristocrat’s pale-pinkish lips.

“Don’t tell me ya will regret it once we’re done!” The muffled whisper sounded like a siren’s song after escaping Judy’s naturally roseate, plumpish lips as she bit her lower lip, reluctant to caution him once taking his vow, there’s no way to bring back the time and pay for his irreparable mistake. “Are you completely sure you want it?” The intensifying silence was ambiguous. Far from explainable were his intentions of his virtue being took by nobody else than Jude in her case. A couple of years of stable friendship and building trust together along with the haphazard, arcane betrayal of his blind naivety in believing in the lies which were a conspiracy against the former nun to strip her off from every clerical possession of hers and snatching it violently from her bare hands resuscitated controversial feelings and emotions of toxicity. Between love and hate, between mistrust and trust, between dark and light, between chaos and harmony. Or rather, his inebriated condition commanded every cell and muscle of his, muting his rationality and afterwards on the morning after regretting for giving his virtue to nobody else than a falsely committed against her will a patient and opting to conceal every tangible piece of evidence of his impurity. What Judy didn’t want to remind herself after combating the scourge’s tribulations of alcohol what were the effects and affects of tipsiness, formulating a sequence of consequences which are rueful, whistling its own requiem in the barrens of past’s ruins and mistakes, whether irreparable or reparable.

“I do!” He managed a humble, meek nod as his hands clawed her shoulders.

Initially, the thrusts were slow and painful, whereas the older woman advised the love of her life to rotate and grind his hips until the wings of self-consciousness flapped floppily, thus dwelling out of his heart. Uncontrollable, impulsive moans and groans floated from their damp lips. Thick, marvelous layer of perspiration glimmered on their all naked like Adam and Eve bodies with Jekyll and Hyde’s personalities, brightly contrasting one another.

The entire night was actually their instead just for a few hours sitting on desk, eating and sharing with each other shenanigans.

In the darkest night, the most palish, luminous stars glimmered as a beehive of startled bees, buzzing frequently in their own home.

The hesitancy and fear’s barriers were already demolished like once majestically built sand castles before the tempest’s apocalypse.

“Oh Timothy!” The former promiscuous nightclub singer mewled in low, velvety voice his first name, her fingernails grazing headstrongly his toned, muscular stark back, indicating her own territory. “You’re unbelievably blowminding!” The thrusts were quicker and less painful as if solely the pleasure and self-indulgence weren’t foreign to the couple at all. “Faster!”

“You’re so tight!” Breathless reprimand grunted when his tongue struggled to craft the unspeakable words which Timothy could never utter and has never uttered, blush touching their chubby, well-sculptured cheeks. “Rare bird!” Smug smirk troubled to curl upon Jude’s naturally rosy-coloured, cherub lips once he addressed her with the prominent nickname for his one of a kind lover.

The recalcitrant muscles of their thighs and hips synchronized, resuming their functioning as one, grinding and rotating on one another. In the interval, the core’s walls constricted firmly the erected member and their climaxes were approaching within a couple of thrusts.

“Fuck!” Assemble of shrilling, feverish moans and groans chanted in unison when the ambitious Monsignor collapsed on the former holy woman’s top after planting his seed inside her entrance and unplugging his cock. Meanwhile, the younger man flipped on the other side by lying against Jude, stilling his snaked muscly, strong arm around her waist, whilst the fingers kneaded the slim, swan curve of her shapely abdomen. Their eyes fluttered open lastly, looking up at each other with humongous desire, lust, warmness and love. “How I did?”

“You were undeniably wonderful. Don’t be so anxious!” The former devotional member of the church patted affably, faintly his muscular shoulder with the heel of her palm. The hoarseness in her chuckle didn’t ebb out. “For first time, I’ve to admit yar were all natural and that was just splendid.”

“Jude,” Benevolently calm, content smile beamed, wearing thousand patterns of merriness and glittering the most vibrant patterns. “I’m honored! And thank you for everything! For the dinner and to feel like a true man.”

“I must rather thank ya for the wonderful dinner and night we both had.” In the meanwhile, her dainty, elegant fingers absently, delicately cradled his sharp jaw line. All of a sudden, crystalline tears bubbled up in her honey brown orbs, sheening its crystal-clear rivulet, formed on her lower eyelids and slowly and steadily trickling its twin, fat tears on her cheeks to gather her garments and get back in her ward after the promised Friday coq-au-vin dinner night they had. Heartbreak tore her flimsy heart on trillions of glassy, frail pieces after the coq-au-vin dinner and making love to one another and possessing his virtue at last, pangs of conscience will gnaw her slowly but surely like a hunted prey until losing her sanity and hollow becomes home of her morality and conscience. Despite the former pious member of the church didn’t want to flee Timothy’s office, in fact, he’s the administrator with Sister Bernadette of the notorious facility and Judy was just a mere madwoman, committed against her will after being stripped off from her ecclesiastical possessions which was partly his responsibility. Further, the always in charge security guards and staff members will commence their search for a missing patient from her own cell. It was the little secret between the madwoman and the Monsignor. After savoring the forbidden fruit from the greenery highlands of Eden’s majestic, desolated garden.

The silence was far from predictable. It was haphazard. It was more intensifying than a prayer in silence and weeping on a deceased inner circle’s member gravestone. It was weaker, more feeble than the galore of questions, twirling and whirling in a vortex until their answer is delivered lastly.

Last but not least, the British aristocrat mused what was the symptom of the uneven silence, frown twisted across his baby pinkish lips, daubing with the tad of his thumb the drizzle of tears, questioning the hush and the suddenness of light rain.

“Jude, is anything wrong?” Within a half a minute no reply, nor piece of evidence of a direct, straightforward action, he quirked a dark, thick eyebrow, creases swimming across his forehead and eyebrows’ cusp. “Jude?”

“You didn’t hurt me, but I hate to say it and it’s because I can’t stay here any longer. I’m just a patient that should be in her ward for good night sleep instead of sneaking in the Monsignor’s office and ya know.” When she sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing with her nimble, delicate fingertips her temple until the blonde felt a mammoth, consolingly secure hand pawing her bare, well-carved elbow and fingers grappling it without releasing its grip.”You’re a priest and ya have yar own dreams and business, whilst I mustn’t put my nose in yar business at a-“

“Jude, stay here! Do not leave me all alone!” From the person she trusted the least and detested with every ounce of her being up to the man, she was head over heels in love again was inevitable for her.

“Look what, Timothy! You’re a priest and you’ll be appointed as a Cardinal very soon. Guards will start looking for me and yar goose will be cooked.” She cupped her face, flushing heavy, jaded sigh from her sensitive, flexible nostrils. “Think twice what do ya want actually more!”

“I just want you, Jude!” Suddenly he dragged her, tucking her warmly, conveniently under the duvet, their naked bodies snuggling in the coziness and lingering their muscles and bones, having no intentions of picking up her discarded garments and flee the austere office along with the linking bedroom.

“Yar drunk. I don’t believe you!”

“Believe me!” As soon as their porcelain, still young-looking complexions, overally shadowed by the pitch-black prospect of the en-suite bedroom barely shared an inch distance, he pecked a tender, feather kiss on the top of her head soothingly, cupping her cheek in the palm of his larger, protective hand. “Even if I’m drunk, it doesn’t matter. Just stay with me!”

“I’ll!” Within a few minutes the aspiring priest drifted off asleep just seconds before Judy was senseless, dedicated utterly to the beauty coma and wake up as early as possible and flee the love of her life’s office, in spite of she didn’t want to. “We’re just like Jekyll and Hyde! Two different people with completely different souls and roles in the life.” Meantime, her fingertips caressed gently, woefully his sharp jaw, admiring its masculine structure that struck her about him, numbering his toned figure for a virgin man, who’s never crawled in a representative of the opposite sex’s bed and has never experienced anything romantic and sexually with a lady, whether his seniors or juniors.

The night the both lovers shared with each other not only expressed platonically in the coq-au-vin dinner, moreover in uniting their essences as one and fleshly is never going to be forgotten by Judy and Timothy even when they weren’t supposed to get laid and have interactions on deeper level.


	6. Alone

**Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for the lack of updates over this story for like a week or two, nevertheless, I wanted to take a break from this short story and I was out of ideas how to write the sequel. Furthermore, Wings of light and the one-shot series are already freshly updated and I didn't want to abandon them with lack of updates or delaying with the updates. ** **Anyway here we go with this trashy chapter, because it's nothing special unless you read it for yourselves. I hope you like and enjoy it as well! :))**

\--- ***** **\---  
\--- _The Next Morning _\---  
\--- _2nd of January, 196__5_ \---

The morning after approached quicker than the light summer zephyr, gently caressing the sand's lavish carpet, blanketing underneath the mist, crystalline sea.

The ambitious Monsignor's office along with the en-suite bedroom, linked with the austere office were once battlefield. Battlefield of scrumptious coq-au-vin dinner, shared with one another, resuscitating the ambience for the old good time's sake. Battlefield of opulent lust, desire and love. Wrinkled bedsheets and discarded bluntly garments on the flooring. Feather even shrilling moans and groans once echoed behind the four-wall rooms. Wide, marvelous thick waves, colliding through the dull walls of the old mental institution. They were rather like ghost whispers, swimming through the tempest of lethal silence as grave. Discarded garments replaced with invincible, painful emptiness.

The lust and desire were replaced with hollow's best friends. Or rather, the hollow's incarnation. Cavities, crying out loud for a change. A rich harvest of barrens. Emptiness. Sorrow. Loneliness. Compunction.

When the wee hours of the morning's hoary light filtered the en-suite bedroom through the battered window, a chilly blanket swaddled Timothy who wore nothing else. He was as naked as a newborn baby.

Once he muffled with the palm of his mammoth, smooth hand a mere yawn, fanning his epidermis and thereafter rubbing with his fashioned in balled fists his groggy cocoa brown jewels, the British aristocrat came to his senses at last, flipping on the other side of the bed and fathoming the crude circumstance of waking up in an empty bed. Waking in the emptiness with nobody else to snuggle in one another’s arms, nuzzle their noses in a tender Eskimo kiss. His Jude was missing and gone. It tore his hearts on trillions of glassy, flimsy pieces, shattered as a luxurious pile of frustration, heartbreak, compunction and misery.

Frustration as a great deal of disappointment for being unable to alter the circumstances and most of all, bring the time back.

Heartbreak for after making love to each other and most of all, giving his virtue to his one of a kind rara avis and her disappearance spoke volumes. He genuinely loved her with his entire heart and their feelings for each other drastically changed through the night. From the Monsignor and the patient, having a dinner for the old time sake up to the lustful lovers which was clearly impossible with a few exceptions.

Compunction with waterfall of questions, sprinkling in his mind and keep questioning himself was it worth. Was it worth giving his virtue to the former pious sister of the church? Was it worth having a coq-au-vin dinner with her? Was it worth allowing her to make a dinner for both of them on small scales? Was it worth even to raise the topic about Friday night?

The intoxication has already ebbed out from his frail skeleton so as the alcohol dwelled out of his blood.

Did the former nun opt somehow to bamboozle him and alluded him somehow to release her or at least a handful of patients? Did she have any secretive intentions? Were they part of her plan for escaping Briarcliff?

Moreover, the aspiring Monsignor didn’t have any benevolent and solid intentions of arranging her release soon unless the court proves her innocence and collect more evidence behind Frank’s brutal homicide which wasn’t committed by her both bare hands which aren’t capable of murdering anybody except in self-defense and endangering her life. Even having coq-au-vin dinners or friendly conversations with the former licentious jazz nightclub singer didn’t change the fact of keeping her behind the dull walls of the infamous asylum.

In the meanwhile, the British aristocrat bleated a grunt under his breath, coming to the conclusion that his garments and boxers were discarded on the floor and no attire hugged his tall figure. Further, his chestnut hair was scruffy and his chocolate brown orbs, glinting misery, heartbreak, frustration and solitude scanned the clock on his left side’s nightstand, reading approximately six and a half o’clock in the morning.

It was high time for him to get up and getting ready for the day. Crystalline, translucent tears rimmed his chocolate brown jewels after blinking a handful of times for a split second, sniffling until discovering on the other nightstand a plain note and recognizing ideally whose manuscript belonged to. It was Jude’s, of course. By judging her manuscript, it was exquisitely and intelligible written even through her swiftness and hasting to pour every impulsive thought, consequently constructing with it a sentence until it forms an intelligible paragraph lastly. His pale-pinkish lips were twisted in a pensive pout after retrieving his discarded ecclesiastical garments which were forming his work uniform and dressing up himself, progressing with the preparation for the ready. Subsequently he approached the nightstand and snatched with childlike inquisitiveness the note, perusing it through the elapsing seconds, ticking as an antique clock in his whirlpool of thoughts and his coffee brown jewels surveying warily the text.

_To my darling Timothy,_

_Good morning! I’d like to apologize for dumping you on the same bed where everything happened the last night. From the old good friends we used to be up to lovers and giving your virtue to me delightfully. I wish I could be the first person you’ve ever woken up next to. First and foremost, if you’re about to blame yourself why you’re alone on the bed, it’s actually my fault. I’m still a patient and the guards will start looking for me through the halls and it’s going to be not only my fault for not being in my ward, but also, you know. Hopefully I didn’t upset you at all. _

_I’ve to admit that the last night was spectacular, Timothy! Thank you for giving me a chance to cook a dinner on smaller scales for the good old times sake and spend a few valuable hours together! It was a wonderful opportunity to be back together as friends, but I don’t know if I have told you this, I’ve always had impure thoughts of you nonetheless. Despite the betrayal and for using to hate you, I don’t know how everything returned back. With each day, my love for you grows rapidly. It’s indescribable. You’ve been always on my mind, no matter the horrible times we had together or either of us._

_For a priest and the first time we had, you use that mouth of yours quite well which amuses me. It makes me wonder if you’ve always been a devout Christian especially a Catholic. I also realize, I know fewest important facts about you and your life in general. I’d love to get to know you better. At least, I’m trying to guess that your favorite color is actually…red? I’ll make sure to ask you more about yourself, because while I love the enigmatic, pious priest you’re exactly, I really want to know more about you. _

_My love for you is unarguably plenty. I can’t even describe with a thousand words paragraph my damned feelings and the way my heart covets you. I’ve never desired someone as much as I do you. There’s no thing I could change about you. You’re just perfection from your warm, benevolently eyes to your muscular, secure arms. I feel blessed for being called a rare bird and you liking my culinary skills._

_I know how weird it’s going to sound but you’re absolutely cute. You don’t have any clue how your English accent is making me smile and it’s pretty attractive. _

_I wrote this note as an explaination, due to the circumstances that separate us. It’s not that because I don’t want every morning to wake up next to you and cuddle even feel your lips on mine. It’s because my yearn every morning you’re the first person ever waking up next to you and I hope you’re not feeling lonely in the morning, Pisceian. If you do, keep up in mind the unforgettable night we had._

_I love you Timothy,_

_By Jude_

Within a handful of minutes after reading the brief note, thus the British compatriot managed to swallow a lump in the back of his throat, bubbling up in his Adam’s apple. Heavy, relieved sigh flushed his toned chest and after scanning each word, poured in each paragraph brought him a dab of relief and sheer felicity which he’s never expected after fathoming his crude cruelty towards her for believing blindly Dr. Arden, the once possessed young sister of the church and the murderous Santa Claus Leigh Emerson. A soft, childlike smile bloomed upon his baby-pinkish lips. The dolor fell off from his porcelain, still youthful complexion in a jiffy. His coffee brown embers ignited the most fiery, vibrant coffee nuance, mottling his round, huge irises. His heart rate increased surreptitiously significant, drumming recurringly vehement in his ribcage. Bold blush touched featherly his chubby, well-sculptured cheeks. The younger man molted after taking his time to survey the fragments of the brief note. Little did he know how his rare bird is full of surprises even as a patient, committed against her will and her once possessions along with remarkable paraphernalia snatched from her hands.

All of a sudden, Sister Bernadette rapped a couple of times on the office door, keeping his wits about her presence and his office phone on the hardwood bureau was ringing. Meanwhile, he rolled vertically the note and surreptitiously put it in his charcoal black slacks’ pocket and scooting up to his hardwood bureau to answer right away the phone which was urgently.

“Monsignor, may I come in?” The stern, unwelcoming southern lilt of the head nun of the facility nagged at the younger man, hesitantly seating on his desk and grabbing the earpiece.

“Hold on a second, Sister! I’ve an urgent phone call and give me a minute only, okay?” After answering the phone call, consequently the earpiece was clung to his sensitive ear. The mirth petering off of his parchment, youthful complexion within a second, swallowing a lump, bubbling up in his Adam’s apple and taking a deep breath. “H-Hello?”

“Monsignor! It’s a relief to call you. We’ve something urgent to discuss!” The sternness punctured the senior woman of the cloth’s Bostonian lilt, whereas Timothy gnawed on his lower plumpish lip and his heart sunk in oblivion.


	7. Unexpected Release

\--- ***** **\---

"Monsignor, we shall talk urgently!" The rustier, huskier accent of the senior woman of the cloth emanating from outside reprimanded, whereas her sufficiently wrinkled due to the inevitable aging process balled fist rapped frequently on the office door. An eerie flat line indicated her incessant sternness, contouring her heavy wrinkles and unfriendly aura, oozing of her.

The heart rate of Timothy increased rabidly rapid, affecting surrealy the drums throbbing in his ribcage, armoring the heart's intensity and the pulsations pulsating vehemently into his ears, tingling the clear Boston lilt of the Mother Superior.

Initially the thought-provoking intention of accepting the forthcoming phone call crossed his mind and swimming through the chaotic, hazy tempest of dilemma, whether answering the forthcoming phone call which is one-off or on the contrary, miss the phone call and have a professional, grave conversation with the head nun of the mental institution. What Timothy reconsidered was wisely objecting for a few minutes his co-worker, in fact, once he misses an important phone call, otherwise the priest would miss exceedingly prominent piece of news.

"Good morning, Mother Superior!" After clearing his throat with a light-heavy, hoarse sigh, thereafter his honeyed timbre accentuated his seriousness. "What we're supposed to discuss urgently?" After scratching with his solely free colossal, veiny hand the top of his head with his small, neatly trimmed fingernails, his eyebrows narrowed in quirk.

"It's about Jude and two more innocent patients, whose place isn't exactly Briarcliff." The senior, revered woman of the cloth emphasized her utterance. "Their names are Kit Walker, the falsely accused as Bloodyface and Lana Winters, a journalist and reporter. Jude told me everything! They're pretty innocent and they should be released today."

"Mr. Walker and Miss Winters will be released within a few hours, however," A heavy, fresh breath coursed through the British aristocrat's brittle lungs, glancing back at the office door to make sure that Sister Bernadette didn't disappear. "I'm afraid Jude should be kept for a bit longer, in fact, her innocence isn't proved and her cure shall continue!" Suddenly what the younger man could hear as a baleful echo through the earpiece was Mother Claudia's baleful scowl, tingling notorious tunes to his ear, supporting his chin with his clumsily pristine fingers, cradling his jaw line surreptitiously and rolling dramatically, hesitantly his round, big cocoa brown jewels, glinting indecisiveness and glacial coldness, blanching the vibrant nuances. “Her daily cares, regularly taken on doses medicaments and prayers are still ongoing.” His strong-willed nature was confronting the dilemma which the senior nun was confining his comfort zone and individual decisions as a director of the madhouse. What it criminally surprised him was that the blonde has contacted somehow with her mentor discreetly and plotted Grace, Lana and Kit’s arranged release, in spite of Mother Claudia’s insistence her protégé to join them. Still, childlike inquisitiveness spiked his thoughts and guilty pleasurable impulse to enquire the Mother Superior. The blood in his veins boiled earnestly and lava overflowing his capillaries.

"Monsignor," The haphazard fritter of his flimsy heart, tearing off on trillions of glassy pieces and shattering as a lavish cataract of heartache's fragments, fathomed hesitantly the sequence of keeping the love of his life jailed behind the dull walls of the facility. His baby-pinkish, chapped lips twisted in a frustrated frown, indicating his frustration and speechlessness even his inability to alter the law. Furthermore, Mother Claudia deeply knew that her own protégé would never commit homicide even towards an employee, due to the senior holy woman knew personally her protégé for more than a decade and acknowledging her former guilty pleasures, computing her gloomy secrets and her tough life since an early age. The former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer would never be involved in a heinous deed, reckoning a homicide. "But also Grace will be released!" Meantime, the ambitious Monsignor stiffened in his chair, tasting the dehydrated, bitter corners of his mouth with a budging tongue.

"Grace mustn't be released, so as Jude! An ax murderer and a madwoman aren't supposed to be free."

"Father Howard, as Mother Superior I insist if these both patients aren't released from Briarcliff immediately," The baleful timbre, accentuating the revered nun's caution, hissing nonchalantly, whereas the clergyman was absently stilling his fingers on his jaw, the pads of his thumbs delicately brushing his alabaster facial skin. "Otherwise you will lose your position as irresponsibility to my injunction!" After clearing his throat with nonchalant, aloof cough, the younger man bit his lower cherub lip. What the menacing caution of Mother Claudia did was startling Timothy. After the tough hard work and diligence and owing his rare bird an enormous credit for the aid along efforts through the years to pursue and accomplish his blinding celestial dream and rise in the higher tiers of the church, he hasn't envisioned his clerical possessions being yanked from his stark hands. His pre-morning humor was mopish, extraordinarily affecting the syllables and vowels, swimming through his throat and tongue. The absence of hydration, consumed food and morning coffee even smoked cigarette were the true symptoms of his mopish, fishy humor. The joys of the last night and the intoxication, relinquishing his virtue to the former holy woman were the sole remnants of his merriness and explicitly, unspeakably inebriating memories and playing the major role of Timothy Howard, who he’s eventually. Not the pious, altruistic and aspiring Monsignor.

“Hold on a second,” After stilling his fingers, curled around the earpiece that was clung to his ear, his only free hand’s fingers unwrapped around his jaw and lowered down to his desk’s drawers with the rich patient’s file and rummaging for Lana, Kit, Grace and Jude’s documents to jot down his signature as a responsible director of the madhouse. Consequently the patient’s file with the documents was tossed on the hardwood bureau and scattered at the free scale space and retrieving his pen.

\--- ***** **\---

Shortly after the British compatriot had a phone conversation and thereafter a business discussion even in the wee hours of the morning with Sister Bernadette, thus he left his office, in order to inform the recently released patients they’re already free to gather their garments and luggage even call them a taxi to drive them wherever their dream destination is situated.

It was almost nine o’clock in the morning with its usual hoary light filtering the expansive common room with the tedious symphony of babbling and hysterically bursting out laughing and bewailing inmates even the bangs of their heads against the brick walls and the frequently playing sinister French song Dominique.

Judy was accompanying Lana, Kit and Grace, although at first they’re murderously antagonizing her for her harsh, dogged treatment towards the unblemished younger adults with her strictness and the canes, welting and wounding their stark rears, besides tinting and scarring sorely painful their buttocks. Howsoever, still there are always second chances even for the sinners and the former antagonists in their stories and realms. The formula of the atonement they fulfilled was goodwill, diplomacy and the revelations. Moreover, they’re getting along so much lately, explaining the platonic friendships Jude made through the past days with Kit, Grace even Lana, thanks to her despondent and disheveled appearance and condition she’s recently confided in.

The horde of adults were seating alongside each other on the tattered, threadbare couch, whereas taking drags at their cigar lengths and blowing grizzled smokes through their nostrils and pink, chapped mouths.

“_Dominique, nique, nique__! __S'en allait tout simplement__! __Routier pauvre et chantant__! __En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_”

“Lana, let’s make a deal!” While the young couple was conversating one another, Jude leaned against the homosexual, her roseate, chapped lips scarcely brushing Lana’s earlobe, coated with scum and filth due to the poor hygiene that the asylum has supplied the inmates. The velvety, firm accent of the middle-aged woman spoke an arcane language for Lana, eavesdropping to her former tormentor’s injunction.

“Sure!” The homosexual swallowed bittersweetly the lump, bubbling up in her throat, squinting in the corner of her coffee brown pool the former woman of the cloth, glancing back in each corner of the common room, making sure she hasn’t heard a foreign sound that isn’t associated with the crude reality and obscuring her mirages after the daily, regular doses of medicine she’s swallowed or at least, pretending in front of the orderlies and staff members to take the medicaments have muddled her vortex of thoughts.

“As I’ve spoken to Mother Claudia to ask for a special permission from the Monsignor to arrange your, Kit and Grace’s releases very soon,” After sharp exhale coursed her slender, ragged torso, seconds before resuming her utterance with the epilogue of the deal the blonde has plotted actually. “Expose this institution and its atrocities’ remnants, right?” After taking another drag at her cigarette, the former sleazy nightclub singer puffed a translucent foggy dim, unfurling in the further corners of the common room, licking greedily, proudly her roseate, chafed cherub lips.

“Yes! With my whole heart and burning hatred to this unholy place, I’ll illuminate everything.” In the meantime, the journalist managed a nod in solemn agreement, a complacent, cocksure smile decorating her pallid due to the lack of daily sunlight fertilizing her flesh with healthy light, adorned with significant, light-heavy plications after the loss of Wendy, discovering the true face of Bloodyface and most of all, the unwanted pregnancy with Bloodyface’s child.

“_Il ne parle que du bon Dieu__! __Il ne parle que du bon Dieu__! __À l'époque ou Jean-sans-Terre__! __D'Angleterre était le roi__!_”

“That’s actually our deal, Miss Lana Banana!” After the friendly, kindhearted emphasis of the mocking nickname Judy was calling the reporter, all of a sudden, the three young adults and the blonde were snapped out of their company’s attention, shifting their attentions directly to the British compatriot after pushing the double door, his elegant, masculine footsteps’ monotonous clicks dancing against the cemented flooring and approaching the shabby couch. Silence was consuming Kit and Grace after the older brunette nudged them, keeping their wits about the director of the facility’s outstanding arrival in the sufficiently expansive room. “The Monsignor!” The Bostonian opted to muffle her whisper, stilling her cherub, dry lips after swallowing a lump, budding up in her throat until her muscles flexed freely.

“I spoke with Mother Claudia and arranging your releases! You’re no longer patients in Briarcliff.” Initially the horde of patients were beyond mesmerized it was too real their liberation from the madhouse’s inadequate care flickered up widely opened the ocean of dark jewels, transfixed on the ambitious Monsignor. The velocity of their instilling heart beats intensified unrealistically after the news were delivered to them as a warm welcome for the beginning of the day. Unlike Lana and Kit’s flabbergast and nonplus contouring their youthful facial attributes, Grace and Jude were yet questioning Timothy’s words with childlike disbelief, rebuke prickling their epidermis with electrifying goosebumps, indicating their ethereal, heavenly euphoria of the achieved freedom at last, thanks to Mother Claudia’s interference in the inmates’ imprisonment conflict. “Furthermore, there’s going to be a taxi called in a couple of minutes and driving you to your dream destination!” Once they took a final drag at the cigar lengths, afterwards they tossed them on the cemented flooring, stubbing them out with their slipper-shoed feet firmly and lifting up their rears from the sofa lastly.

“_Dominique, notre père,__! __Combattit les Albigeois._ _Dominique, nique, nique__! __S'en allait tout simplement__!_”

What it boggled the former nun was that her mentor is also responsible for her release, although the fresh memories of her personal conversation with the senior member of the clergy paying a visit to the mental hospital were far from an unrequited dream.

As soon as the young adults fled the common room, suddenly the British aristocrat broke the ice as his rara avis stopped in a halt with her meek escort, in order to have a personal conversation, involving both of them solely and nobody else as participants.

“Jude,”

“I’d like to know why I’m released from Briarcliff, in fact, your decision to keep me for longer for the cure and taking my medicine and praying are in force!” The blonde’s insistence in her childlike curiosity to discover the true answer for her arranged release in the foreshadowing truth.

“Let’s discuss it outside instead in front of the patients,” After Timothy cut her off curtly and ushering her to flee the common room in a jiffy until their figures stood beside the double door and dim light, abysmal hallway foreshadowed the final moments of the former business partners inside the mental hospital. “Jude, the Mother Superior threatened me if I don’t release you and Grace, I’ll be removed from my position and the diocese will count my days!” Suddenly the clergyman managed to duck his head, fathoming the limited time that was elapsing smoothly, but far from sluggishly with his rare bird. Woeful smile broke haphazardly the younger man’s expression. His heart ached intensely, spotlighting across his chest. “But you, everybody is released due to your wish Kit and Lana to be the first ones out, because they’re completely innocent!” His English lilt accentuated his lowered voice though his coffee brown embers showed galore of emotions. The Bostonian noticed the woeful demeanor of her lover, alluding their farewell moment. Ruefully beaming at him, her quivering, slim fingers reached for his broad, muscly shoulder to paw it affably, squeezing it emboldeningly to meet her gaze.

“Thank you for everything! For the last night, allowing me to cook a dinner on small scales for both of us only and for the freedom ya have given to me and the souls that are far from repenting to belong there!” In the interval, the amicable shoulder squeeze encouraged his smoky quartz pools meeting hers without averting them. Their stares spoke volumes. Abundance of peppy emotions and feelings ignited their embers, being readable by the other twain of jewels and dearly espousing the genuine story behind the rueful, exacerbating silence, stretching them with the limited proximity they shared altogether. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”

Instead of the answer, begging the highlighted woeful exclaimation with the lowered timbre of the vowels and syllables, dancing in rhymes and constructing the ambiguous sentence after escaping the darkened tongue. Paradoxal paroxysm and shivers down his body of sweetness, pleasure and despair sedated his bones and muscles. The silence was arcanely muting and killing the imminent words, attempting to formulate a rational or a reckless confession, pouring their entire world of thoughts in a revelation that was worth thousand patterns of sentiments and sensations. The hush lingered between the both adults, incapable of interrupting the invincible hush with peeling a single word.

Notwithstanding the absolute reality, the British compatriot commenced swimming through the tempest of his thoughts, asking himself what’s worse. Keeping his own rara avis imprisoned as a madwoman or telling one another farewell and the silence slaughtering the pile of utterances, lingering on their tongue which they’d exchange in the elapsing minutes of the endless quietude. Less explainable than an omen, Bible and Christian books’ context. Slightly more explainable than theoretic questions, struggling the scientists and discoverers.

Snorting with her nostrils inwardly the amalgamation of heavy medicaments, reek of urine, poor hygiene and the alluring fragrance of gardenias, seconds before pacing up in the profound corridor of the madhouse, they looked up at each other’s facial attributes for last time until the trembling, weathered by the common chilly climate fingers were replaced with the empty coldness, swaddling the British aristocrat’s shoulder, fixating his gaze on the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer withdrawing from him per a second with every took step, progressing her journey to be out of sight.

\--- ***** **\---

\--- _A Quarter an Hour Later_ \---

A quarter an hour after Kit, Lana and Grace got dressed up in casual garments, Lana left the old asylum by getting inside her own taxi, whereas the young couple preferred to stay and awaiting patiently for the former woman of the cloth to get ready and flee the grandiose façade within a handful of minutes.

In spite of the French young lady was against the blonde to be sheltered in Kit’s household after discussing it, Kit somehow pitied and noted a vague sparkle, oozing of the Bostonian which was somber and noting her one of a kind individuality and cleansing his own conscience by aiding her to be part of their small family though the younger lady was in the first trimester of her pregnancy and experiencing the regular symptoms of every lady, going through the sandstorm of mood swings, morning sicknesses, drastic weight gain and food craves.

Once the door swung opened, the former member of the clergy was donned unbelievably dazzling, scintillating with her own fashion style which wasn’t extravagant and seductive at all.

The young couple’s eyes widened at the sight of the middle-aged lady slender figure being hugged in an olive-green cashmere dress with V neckline, exposing partly her well-sculptured by God’s nimble, loving hands collarbones and neck with long sleeves, armoring her pebbling her epidermis with electrifying, bristled goosebumps. Black, wool stockings coating her leanly long as towers legs with knee length leather boots. The olive-green’s cashmere dress hem flared across her round, well-carved knees with each movement. Her long gilded mop of greasy, silver-gilded curls, framing her round, full profile were piled up on her shoulders. Although the low-quality hygiene, scum, filth, death and acute medicaments’ reek were clung to her frail skeleton, it didn’t ebb off her radiance and her scintillating beauty for her early sixties. Further, a winter, cozy pantaletot overally shielded her torso.

A vaguely glowing smile embellished her facial attributes, meeting the young adults’ stares in awe, whilst the brunette’s elvish, weathered hand rested on her small bump.

“What are ya waiting for?”

“To come and live with us.” The young man’s offer tore off the middle-aged woman’s facial expression with an incredulous quirk of her eyebrow, stubbornly pursing her lips at his goodwill.

“I think ya have mistaken anything, Kit! I did bunch of atrocities to both of ya and I doubt it my presence is coveted in your house and with your future child.” At the moment, the former licentious nightclub singer ducked her head shamefacedly at the offer, gnawing on her upper, dry lip after gulping a lump dryly, bittersweetly. “You don’t want an ex-old mean nun to run around yar house by washing the dishes and step inside your house.”

“Judy, there are always second chances,” Suddenly the both young adults approached Judy, subtly taking her both petite, weathered hands in one of their hands, the pads of their fingers kneading her fragile knuckles. Hesitantly, stilling her honey brown orbs to the cemented, dull flooring, she lifted them up and linked them up with a pair of smoky quartz and pair of lapis lazuli irises, darted to hers as cupid arrows. “No matter the past and what you did to us with Grace and Lana and the others, redemption is the key to be at peace with each other!” Squinting up at their glistening with sheer innocence, warmness jewels which were uniquely rare granted her another hope. Chubby, crystalline tear trickled down from her lower eyelid after rimming her eyelid. “Even the child we’re waiting impatient with Grace will surely love you as her or his own grandmother.” Tentatively gulping another salty lump in the back of her throat, the sudden familiar, masculine footsteps clicked monotonously against the dull hall’s floor. It was Timothy’s.

After the Bostonian turned to peep back at her back, noticing a tall, familiar figure, mildly shadowed by the dim lightness, flickering naturally in the hallway, her mind urged her to stop in a halt and have a brief conversation with the ambitious Monsignor, despite she maneuvered her foster family non-verbally to leave the mental hospital’s façade within a few minutes without wasting a valuable time and to get inside the taxi.

“Rare bird, wait,” As the horde of adults were aiming to the Stairway of Heaven to descend the spiral stairs, Jude tried her best to overlook Timothy, pretending as if nothing has happened. Her heart ached, although her intuition kept caging her inside her headstrong reality where the Monsignor actually had contrasting intentions.

“Jude, speak to him!” The younger lady muffled a whisper with her French, mellow lilt to the Bostonian to not disregard the British compatriot. “I think he wants to say anything to you.”

“Just no! I think we said what we needed to,” Heavy rain of tears poured on her parchment, pallid complexion as their shoes, clicking against every imposed spiral stair. Stutter scratched her dry, dehydrated throat, whilst the British aristocrat opted to approach Kit, Grace and Judy. Heeding the hymns of masculine, meek footsteps behind her were tingling a requiem into her ears. “It’s time to open a new chapter in the life.” Within a few minutes, they ambled up to the parked vehicle and getting inside, whereas Timothy stopped in a halt, paralyzed to bones to stop his rare bird from getting out of sight, moving up in Kit and Grace’s household. The incessant vehicle buzzing engine interweaved with the whistling beehive of tumbling crystal, palish snowflakes.

“You’re right!” The both juvenile adults bobbed their heads in a solemn agreement.

As soon as the taxi car drift off through the freshly cleaned asphalts, the man of the cloth bowed his head coyly, suckling on his lower cherub lip between his ivory, still firm front teeth strongly, without averting his blanched chocolate brown irises from his shuffled shoes, losing its true luster. Twin fat, uneven tears pooled his eyelids, throughout gushing down his cheeks and daubing them with his fingertips, Little did he know where Kit and his small family lived to ease his journey to find his own rare bird. His flimsy heart was whacked on waterfall of glassy, brittle pieces, shattered as a shore, swamping his chest mistily.


	8. New Beginning

\--- ***** **\---  
\---_ A Few Weeks Later or So _\---  
\--- _10th of February, 1965 _\---

Within the advancing time and Kit living with two ladies under roof wasn't a child's play at all for him. Two women with huge age gap and gut-wrenching worldviews and philosophy, besides sharing different backgrounds. In spite of the series of discordes between the young adults and the middle-aged lady, however, they relied on each other and gave to each other second chances especially Kit and Grace to Jude after agonizing them with the bloodthirsty canes, welting and scarring their rears. Last but not least, the young couple and the blonde were doubtlessly agitated for the unborn child that was living inside the French compatriot's belly.

The young couple were spending more time outside on snowy hikes in the woods, whilst the former holy woman preferred to stay at home with her own vortex of thoughts and cleaning even doing housework in the one-story property which was the sole home she inhabited recently.

The wee hours of the afternoon were dimming the small city of Massachusetts' atmosphere with rich snowfall, pelting down and conveniently, delightfully blanketing with chilly snow blanket the overall surroundings and swarm of stark as newborns trees' branches. Silver light filtered through the living room's window.

Again, the former devotional member of the clergy couldn't escape from the madness of her impure thoughts and maniacal obsession over the man of the cloth though Grace and Kit weren't very fond of him, in spite of his long time friendship with their roommate. What it questioned the former woman of the cloth was if Timothy was pondering profoundly and swimming through his ocean of thoughts about her and having impure thoughts of her yet.

Did he truly love her? Was Timothy dwelling out of the crude reality's realm and dwelling in the profound, heavenly depths of his reverie for modicum time at least? Was she part of his reverie? Was Judy the protagonist in his blizzard of thoughts? Was she the crucial reason why he mourned and putrefy physically and mentally?

The mellow swishing of the blizzard outside tingled angelic hymns into the former licentious jazz nightclub singer's sensitive, petite ears and fathoming almost every person's guilty person with a smug, shameless smile spreading across her roseate, cherub lips and wearing a thousand patterns of glee. Literally reclining on seatable furniture, composing her own posture and nonchalance and lethargy contouring her facial features with bright colors, whereas the storm was dancing and chanting its own soundtrack in a deep resonance. Warmness, comfortable coziness and indulgence were clung to her and reeking of snugness.

The housework was already done. No longer dust and chunks' remnants such as food and random' leftovers were clobbering the flooring of each room. The fresh, ventilated air was wafting inside the property. It was a genuine paradise.

It was high time for the former nun to relax and give herself some time to take care of her physical condition with a mere nap on the sofa and her muscles and bones to be stiff, scarcely encumbering themselves with any kind of pressure.

After readjusting her position and her petite feet perched motionlessly on the arm panel, softness battering her ankles, subsequently her back cocked back on the arm panel, seconds before fluttering shut her eyelids to dwell out of the reality's realm and inhabiting consciously and mentally reverie's outskirts. Nothing could halt her except the haphazard background noises and sounds, snapping her out of her daydreaming as if a mother was interrupting her child's daydreaming and waking him up for school after storming off in his room and pulling off the curtains to allow the scintillating sun dazzle his vision.

\--- ******* \---

\--- _Dream _\---

_Everything seemed pitch-black darkness behind the dull, lifeless walls of the notorious asylum. The patients even more despondent. Their chances of survival diminished with almost every advancing day. Everything was just pointless even monotonous in their daily lives. From the tranquilizing medicaments which the despondent inmates were accepting even pretending to swallow some of them and fathoming the barbarous sequence of their mind's irrational, uneven functioning up to the babbles and anticipating slowly but surely their destined demise inside the mental institution._

_Judy's life hasn't been always easy at all. After joining the church to release the reins off from her sleazy, hectic lifestyle of boozing, getting laid with strangers for one-night only and the hit-and-run prey on her way to home in the ebony darkness was one of the toughest decisions ever made in her life. Disinfecting her own soul from the sins and vices, casted as shadows and demons from her grim past and haunting her in the corners of the ebony obscurity._

_The reek of urine, poor hygiene, bleach, death and heavy medicaments were wafting across each staff member and lunatic's nostrils._

_First and foremost, the facility has chosen already a new head nun by another Monsignor's side and ruling together with an iron fist the remnants which they're gradually leaving behind themselves._

_Jude and Timothy were stripped off from their clerical possessions due to Dr. Arden and the recent head nun that were the top staff members of Briarcliff. Moreover, they were renamed as Judy's current name was Betty Drake, whereas the British compatriot's new name was eventually Kai Vincent. They've had plotted a couple of scenarios to flee the mental institution without hesitance and being caught. Notwithstanding the plotted scenarios, they're still awaiting for the ideal moment to escape the old, infamous asylum without turning their backs ever again and have a fresh start._

_Within the approaching morning and the elapsing time which was slower than an uneven bead of soaked lion mane, strangely, the former holy woman hasn't seen the British compatriot in the common room, nor anywhere else. Little did she know what has happened to him and most of all, what's the reason behind his abrupt disappearance. Abundance of questions twirled and whirled in her train of thoughts._

_After discreetly fleeing the common room without being caught by any orderlies, nor the security guards, the blonde's impending destination was up to the men's wing, surreptitiously sneaking as a spectral, leisurely wandering inside an old, dilapidating façade's remnants._

_The background sounds of shrilling, despondent wails traced into wide waves, throughout colliding into the lifeless, hoary walls. The wails spoke emotions to the surroundings. The opulent, surrealistic cauldron of sorrow, misery, death and severe agony was brewing and cooking._

_Once the middle-aged lady snuck up inside the men's wing and glancing back and forward's directions, making sure the space was readily clean and safe for her to set a foot, thereafter blanketed corpse on a patient bed with sheerly rigid cotton, oyster-white blanket swaddling the unrecognizable masculine corpse, motionlessly reclined on its sanctuary of demise. Sheerly oyster-white blanket shielding the feeble, pallid corpse from the common icy climate._

_The winter_ was already agonizing and plaguing with frostbite the wretched souls.

_In spite of the loneliness, blanketing lukewarmly the Bostonian, she tiptoed to the fully blanketed dead body. What she could remind herself was that it was just another inmate, finding his own death approximately sooner than later. Or rather, the last, fatal breath was inhaled and exhaled just awhile ago._

_Her childlike, acute inquisitiveness commanded her impulse and instincts to unwrap the blanket and discover the dead body's identity and to whom belonged to eventually. Within the swift, resilient surreptitious scud up to the ambulance bed to convey the impending prey of the demise, the blonde's jaw chattered timidly, her lower chapped plumpish lip quivered after struggling to discover the bizarrely recognizable attributes beneath the blanket._

_Maintaining with petering out the proximity with the ambulance bed of the deceased inmate, whose dead body is going to be conveyed in the morgue, her trembling petite, weathered hand reached for the cloth until her fingers and palm manipulated the unwind, the coverlet peeling off from the younger man's motionless, expressionless face._

_"No, no!" At the moment, Judy's jaw clattered recurringly, landing her apprehensive caramel brown embers on her former lover's emotionless, pallid face, chewing on her lower lip to stifle the desperate, uncontrollable hollers, dancing in her throat in a bittersweet lump. "This isn't supposed to be real." Meanwhile, her childlike inquisitiveness convinced her to unfold the rest of the coverlet as the instruction potently maneuvered her fingers' muscles, whereas her only free hand muffled the quiet sniffles. Vigorously translucent tears glimmered on her lower eyelids, thus rolling on her cheeks everlastingly. Her entire complexion was blanched in mortification and her heart sunk, unable to recover from Timothy's death._

_Timothy's corpse was laying peacefully, inertly and his feeble bones were in a patient outfit-clad. The muscularity of his arms and legs haven't vanished even though the low-quality food he's being provided like Jude. His mammoth, pallid hands were barely brushing his support._

_"No! That's quite surreal to be real." The middle-aged woman bended against the bed and pressed a hardening longer kiss on his berry-coloured, chapped lips, managing to cup his cheeks and the raw coldness trounced her palms and fingers. Although the common coldness, encountered in the corpses and feeble wretched souls, it didn't prevent the former woman of the cloth's intentions to cease them from functioning and play out. Even when the former priest was ill or as chilly as the both farest poles in the world, it didn't stop Judy from having a physical contact with the love of her life who was nothing than a carcass. "No, Timothy! Do not leave me!" What the Bostonian was fearing more than anything was losing a beloved person and Timothy was the last ever beloved person she's lost due to the cutthroat, ruthless mental institution's conditions, measured in the heavy medicines which were doped with the wretched souls, the poor-quality and paltry food with which they were ensured to have twice a day meals, the electroshock therapies for the least obedient patients and the lacking quantity of staff members to look after the lunatics._

\--- ******* \---

\--- _End of Dream_ \---

"Judy, we're home!" All of a sudden, the front door swung opened after the young couple had a small journey outside, bleating the croak to keep the older woman's wits about their arrival at home.

"Dammit!" Meantime, a vague headache tormented Jude after coming to her senses, her spider palish fingers managed to reach for her temple, manipulating her fingertips to rub the temple's groins restlessly, gently until the twain of young adults' meek, monotonous footsteps echoed against the corridor's flooring after peeling off the winter pantaletots from their frail skeletons, subsequently hanging them on the coat hanger and hopping up in fuzzy, convenient slippers. "Hi Kit and Grace!" Jude seated on the couch, peering over her shoulder to acknowledge Kit and Grace's presences as they were strolling up to the couch to take a seat alongside her.

"Hi Jude!" The stoicness sketching the former devotional member of the clergy's attributes startled the young couple as the French woman was by Judy's right side, whereas Kit was by her left side on the contrary. "You okay?" The young man's posed question slightly embarrassed the former holy woman, gritting her teeth to stifle the series of yelps due to the vicious migraine after kneading steadily her forehead. Fresh cerise, vibrant blush tinged the older lady's cheeks at the posed question and opting to clash the migraine with sorting her mind, constructing with the proper words a straightforward utterance.

"A slight migraine but everything is okay! Don't worry about me at all, kiddos!" The steadiness of her honeyed, Boston lilt accentuated her vouch, shifting her attention to Kit with a vague, benevolent smile, blossoming upon her roseate, cherub lips to refrain and prevail the physical discomfort due to the megrim, aching partly her mind barbarically. "Spill the tea about yar hike in the woods!"

"It was fantastic." After a heavy sigh flushed the French woman's chest, earning pair of dark irises transfixed on her, the brunette returned the middle-aged woman's smile with radiantly merry, glinting across her porcelain, youthful complexion and wearing thousand patterns of merriness, whilst holding the gaze with Kit and Jude. "Truthfully the experience outside with somebody you love truly is much different compared to the solo walks," Swarm of husky chuckles clicked the roof of their mouths, consequently synchronizing verbally, tunefully a symphony of the jubilance and chuckles in the living room. "You know, Judy! The cold can't stop us."

"I absolutely agree with ya, Grace! The walks with somebody ya sincerely love are one of the most magical, best experiences you'll ever have."

"Needless to say that there weren't any people, walking in the snowy forests. It just reminded me of the first ever date we had with Kit." In the meanwhile, the brunette's gaze darted to the young man, her French lilt puncturing her pure, breathless exultation. "Honey, isn't like that?"

"Exactly, my love!" The young man's mouth opened in a soft, complacent grin, while ogling at his girlfriend with sheer warmness, love and desire. Optimism and mirth were adorning their attributes, sheening smoothly vibrant texture. Rigid felicity, indicated in their alight embers and vibrant, blissful smiles even series of chuckles and snickers. "I remember how we brought the Polaroid camera to take a couple of goofy and memorable photos!"

"Indeed! What about you, Jude? How did you spend your time at home?"

"It was alright and exhausting as I was doing bunch of housework by cleaning and so forth, ya know! It's nothing special and after that I'm here." Her nostrils snorted the fresh, ventilated air of coziness and the sensing the genuine notion of home with her roommates. "On the couch!" Half-hearted, hoarse snickers slipped from their tongues in unison.

"The old same story about the house's housekeeper!"

\--- ******* \---

More than a month or so was one of the toughest episodes of Timothy's life as a devotional clergyman. After Judy's arranged release with Kit, Lana and Grace and the love of his life is staying with the young couple in their household, afterwards the British compatriot's life changed retrogradely.

Sleepless nights, the inescapably orthodox symptoms of the sinister, stark insomnia and overwhelming thoughts, rotting over the former pious woman of the cloth's absence were commonly encountered in the British aristocrat's hectic daily life. He hasn't shared with anybody even acknowledged any single soul over his angst over the blonde's absence and how much he suffered with each advancing day even an elapsed second physically and mentally. Little did he know how he's still on his feet and keep visiting hallowed places wherever the Cardinal sends him and most of all, having a mere, professional contact with Sister Bernadette.

Despite Timothy's great deal of efforts to evade any skeptical speculations behind his back not only from staff members, but also from Sister Bernadette, furthermore his recent business partner noted cynical odds in his demeanor in the past weeks and days.

The sleepless nights and the insane quantity of boozed caffeine beverages and the starvation for a few days except with a handful of smoked daily cigarettes even the dubious dark circles, dancing and shadowing his lower eyelids were mortifying even commencing to resuscitate the worries in the senior woman of the cloth. The despondency, punctured in his English lilt were inevitably spotted and spotlighted even questioned by Sister Bernadette. Last but not least, the British compatriot opted to obscure his melancholy.

Whilst seating in his own austere office, the aspiring Monsignor's colossal, veiny and weathered hand grasped an old, Polaroid photograph, photographed by a professional photographer of him with Jude after delivering speech in the church.

The once beaming, charming smiles, embellishing their parchment, still young-looking complexion saddened even more Timothy. Crystal, salty tears rimmed his chocolate brown orbs as weathered fingertips tipped the Bostonian's shining smile. Their mirthful pools were darted to the camera. Genuine felicity was spreading like plague even melancholy and the traces of memories scarring with low spirits and nostalgia, tearing off the man of the cloth's heart on thousand of flimsy, glassy pieces, shattered and swamping a frail lake of misty heartache and somberness. His flexible nostrils snorted a sniffle, ducking his head and his tongue almost struggling to forge the impending exclaimation with weaker timbre.

"My rare bird! I sincerely miss you!" The lowered, velvety whisper dripped from his mouth until the abruptly swung opened office door caught him off guard at the sight of the merciless sister of the church, accompanied by Dr. Arden with their grimaced faces, dipped in glaring ocean. "You haven't even knocked on the door! Don't you remember what are the rules before even daring to open the door?"

"Monsignor, you're officially stripped off from your clerical possessions!" 


	9. Fated Punishment

** **

**Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for a half a month delay with the updates, nevertheless, not only I didn't have any motivation to continue this story, but also I was out of ideas or I've cluster of scenarios how to resume it and yet hesitating whether if they're going to be pretty beneficial or otherwise spoiling the story and ruining its quality. Furthermore, I'm planning to cut short the chapters, in order to finish this garbage earlier before Christmas holidays. I hope you like and enjoy it as well! Please, don't forget to leave feedback which arouse my elation to read them how much did you enjoy reading it! :))**

\--- ***** **\---

The intensifying atmosphere between the former Nazi war criminal, accompanied by the senior austere sister of the church Sister Bernadette and the aspiring Monsignor. What the aspiring Monsignor loathed more than anything was the irresponsibility and blunt entrances inside his office before keeping his wits about the current visitor's arrival.

Furthermore, Sister Bernadette has informed the Cardinal about Timothy's eccentric behaviour in the past weeks and not investing any quantity of money for hiring more staff members to look after the wretched souls, besides for more higher quality food and medicaments even equipment with which the patients to be provided and staff members.

Notwithstanding the circumstances, Dr. Arden and the senior pious woman of the cloth were bloodthirstily hostile with Timothy lately and plotting galore of luxuriously malicious plans to strip him off from his clerical possessions even forbid Mary Eunice's contacts with the British compatriot even not having any interactions with the former patients Jude, Kit, Grace and Lana.

"It's not Monsignor anymore, Father! I've spoken to the Cardinal, informing him about your eccentric demeanor lately which is quite repulsive," In the meanwhile, a heavy, cold-hearted sigh flushed the senior holy woman's constricted, bulky chest, whereas the younger man gnawed on the raw spot of her delicate lip, flickering up her scintillating glare at the younger man. "And I bet you're still thinking of that released patient. The old whore!" Emphasis punctured her rebuke in her northern lilt, crossing her floppily bulky, hypodermically soft fat arms contoured beneath the rigidly shapeless, wool habit.

"No matter what she used to be in the past, you don't have the right to call her like that! She isn't an old whore!" Tempest of heartache tore off Timothy's frail heart on millions of flimsily glassy pieces, shattered in a cataract of somberness and swamping the hollow with misery, heartbreak and frustration. Misery for scarcely getting out of his mind the vividly melanholic, unersmemories of Jude's last moments in the asylum by hopping up in the taxi, accompanying Kit and Grace.

"Regardless the circumstances, Mr. Howard, this woman is a disgrace to the church and the society! Just releasing her with Mother Superior's help and due to her threat means nothing." At the moment, the British compatriot lifted up his rear from his hardwood bureau, in spite of his arduous persistence to confront the older adults, whose intentions and morals were far from acceptable.

\--- ***** **\---  
\--- _A Couple of Hours Later _\---

Within the advancing hours, the daylight episode of the day abruptly jumpcutted up to the nocturnal episode with the darkening starlessly cloudless sky. Full alabaster moon hovered up in the nocturnal, somber sky, dispersing its own marbled pallid light, mirroring the blanketed in shadows surroundings below.

After Kit, Grace and Jude had a dinner in the kitchen, thus Jude cleaned the kitchen table and washed the dishes, whilst Grace aided her. At the moment, Kit plugged the radio in the plug, subsequently linking it, in order to switch the stations until he peaked to the evening news' station which he was listening to daily.

In the meanwhile, the sink's faucet was turn and lukewarm, crystal jet water splashed onto the sink's ground, reproducing the featureless cataract. The French compatriot was maintaining an adequately appropriate proximity with the former devotional holy woman who lathered with a compact sponge the filthy, food-greased dishes and handing them to the younger woman to collection the already lathered and washed dishes on the dish drying rack to wring its translucent crystalline beads.

“The _former Monsignor Timothy Howard was abolished from his own position after being charged by the head nun of the infamous mental institution Briarcliff and the doctor of science Dr. Arden in his eccentric demeanor, occurred a month ago after the release of a few patients._” When the radio journalist initialized with the breaking news, whereas the horde of adults were all ears about the evening news station, honing their ears to assimilate the information that was the journalist interpreting, meanwhile, the young man was tidying the food chunks and remnants from the dining table with an outworn, old cloth. During the minute of silence, nobody dared to peel a single word and unzip their cherub lips to emit another crafted utterance with its syllables and vowels, exquisitely sorted to form a word, based on its formula. Incredulity stung widened in shock not only Grace and Kit, moreover Judy’s embers. The different notions, conflicting with one another embers’ owners blazed them with the fieriest blaze. What it could be readable past the young couple’s visions was they haven’t expected such a brassly unexplainable scenario, far from imaginable. In spite of they know how much their former foe was indisputably quite fond of the British compatriot unlike them, they were inwardly at peace with themselves after witnessing the British compatriot’s betrayal towards his rara avis and being partly responsible for her institutionalization. “_After Sister Bernadette and Dr. Arden have contacted the Cardinal even informing Father Malachi, the both sides backed them up without a shadow of doubt and started the process with the former Monsignor’s removal from his position, declaiming him as an insane with schizophrenia for his distance from the reality and pondering in his thoughts and keeping in mind yet of a former nun and patient in the same time._” After washing the last dish during the lukewarmly running jet water and splashing its jet below the flimsy marble material until the blonde clumsily tossed unintentionally, reluctantly the plate on the floor. The ballad of the radio reporter’s deep, half-hearted declaim and the broken plate on dozens of frail marbled pieces, squirted a handful of yards tingled a distracting ode, whereas the French compatriot turned off the faucet and the blonde crouched down after daubing her drenched hands in the towel and retrieving a broomstick and paddle to clean neatly the mess after herself, grunting in a murmur inflammatory cuss with a heavy, dry snort “Holy shit!”.

“Judy?” The young man accentuated an emphasis in addressing his friend’s name after cleaning the mess after herself, the broomstick’s wooden handle lingered in her spider palish fingers, ducking childishly mortified her parchment, yet elderly young-looking complexion with a generous layer of thick rubicund blush powdering her overall facial skin with sweltering heat crawled underneath. In the interim, the former promiscuous nightclub singer’s frail heart thundered in her ribcage, scarcely hankering her former foe’s honeyed voice, fueled with immense concern, nor the radio news. “Judy, you okay?” All of a sudden, after repeating in a choir his northern lilt, accenting his rhetorical enquiry, the older lady lifted up her shamefaced face from her uneasily fidgety slipper-clad feet up to Kit’s handsome facial attributes. Dab of relief oddly consoled and softened her facial attributes in a jiff after linking her hazelish-brown jewels with his cocoa brown. She managed a nod in agreement, opting to obscure the heartache of acknowledging the British aristocrat’s institutionalization inside the madhouse and the mortification of the accidentally broken plate. “You don’t need to be that concerned about such a petty accident, involving a broken dish.” At the moment, the proximity they maintained diminished with inches and his bizarre, mildly embarrassing closeness powdered a heavier powder of blush overally the middle-aged lady’s face, sensing how small, weak and vulnerable she’s when somebody attempted to provide her affable, kindhearted comfort, longing for it. “Come on, Judy! You can take a break, while I’ll take care of the business.” Encouragingly, consolingly manipulating his colossal, alabaster hand to rub her shoulder blade enforced her cherub rosy-coloured lips to stifle a gasp at the nip of the raw spot of her lower lip between her front ivory, firm teeth.

“Kit, no!” The sharpness, punctured in the Bostonian’s snap didn’t interrupt the young man from snatching the broom from her long, slim fingers as flute stings immediately.

“_Last but not least, the ex-priest won’t be replaced as an ex-director of the mental institution, whilst Dr. Arden and Sister Bernadette are still in charge of Briarcliff and invest innovations from the budget they’ve earned in the past weeks. Stay tuned for more news about Briarcliff!_” In the interval, the brunette approached Judy and guided her in wobbles up to the guests’ room warily, in order to not harm her and provide her modicum of kindhearted, altruistic comfort and affection after noting her abrupt despondent condition not only after unintentionally breaking the plate after tossing it on the kitchen floor, but also grieving over the former man of the cloth’s imprisonment. The radio news was yet ongoing and lowly humming in the kitchen’s background.

“Where are ya taking me, Grace?” The northern lilt, puncturing the graveness in Judy’s low spirited posed question didn’t break the French girl’s facial expression, supporting her middle with an alabaster, lean arm, snaked steadily to maneuver her to the guests’ room.

“You seem pretty despondent, Judy! I think the best thing you could is to rest and not pressuring yourself physically and mentally.” Grace detected the low spirits, oozing of the former pious holy man promptly and aided her to be on her feet physically and mentally after nudging with an elbow the door handle to the guests’ room, subsequently swinging opened the door at the welcoming, cozy atmosphere, hovering the sufficiently expansive room. “It’s not your fault at all.”

“It’s my fault I left him to think constantly about me and I didn’t even say anything to him when he’s screaming my name while leaving Briarcliff.” Shortly after the brunette bit her lower lip begrudgingly and emboldened the former nun to seat on the edge of the queen-sized bed gingerly, tenderly, she snaked another alabaster arm to support her middle in the scooped embrace. “I remember how ya and Kit persuaded me to speak to him instead of ignoring him as if he’s a second choice, because he wanted to tell me something.”

“Judy!” Hideous sob broke the Bostonian’s facial expression, consequently allowing a heavy rain of crystalline, translucent tears to trickle downward her lower eyelids, barely having the strength to daub them with the pads of her spider marbled fingers, whilst burying her tear-stained face in the crook of the French girl’s arm, soaking her convenient sweater with her own bittersweet, fugly tears. “Are you crying over somebody who firstly betrayed you due to his ego and then arranged your release? It’s ridiculous.”

“I still love him and he doesn’t deserve the hell which I’ve already been through, Grace!” A heavy snort flushed the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer’s vulnerable, stickily soaked nostrils, drawing her in a tight, friendly hug after throwing her arms to brace her satin shoulders. The heartbreak, tearing off Judy’s heart on trillions of glassy pieces wasn’t enough for her to cope with Timothy’s imprisonment and her unimaginable intentions to go back in the facility and rescue him at any cost with the cost of her pearly life. “We’ve to do something about him and grant him the freedom which he granted us,” The continuous requiem of sobs were distinctive for the both women as the French compatriot purred a velvety shush with her French lilt, kneading with her fingers her spine with paradoxal paroxysm and warmness. “Before it’s too late and that old hag Sister Bernadette even Dr. Arden kill him or at least be partly involved in his homicide.”

“Everything is going to be alright, Judy!”

“It’s not going to be okay until Timothy isn’t released from that fucking hellhole!” Suddenly the middle-aged lady nagged, her tongue scarcely forging the vowels and syllables, limping backward and forward on her tongue after attempting to cope with the lethal heartbreak and melancholy. “Or at least we do something to get him out.”

“But Kit would be strongly against-“ When the brunette opted to conjugate an utterance, the former pious sister of the church snapped at her, cutting her off curtly momentarily after breaking off the embrace and taking their time to admire one another’s facial features even when the blonde’s red-rimmed and unattractively swamped with crystalline dew eyelids blinked the tears, aching due to the overwhelming melancholy.

“I don’t give a damn if he’s against Timothy’s release or something, because I’d deeply regret for dumping him to rot in the hellhole where he truly doesn’t belong at all.”

\--- ******* \---

Hours after the former holy man was abolished from his own position as a director of the notorious facility, thereafter two orderlies dragged him violently to the hydrotherapy when he was donned in the ordinary, extravagant patient outfit, shielding his frail skeleton from the common frosty climate. Writhing stormily in their grasps and bleating protesting whimpers pitched the dully lifeless hallways of the madhouse, trying to escape their grips due to the obnoxious hydrotherapy bathtub where the liquid’s temperature was searing and welting his sensitive epidermis.

Furthermore the British compatriot was renamed from Timothy into Owen Manson and series of black and white, fuzzy mugshots were framing his patient file paged up on the top. What he solely knew now was that he’s destined to spend the rest of his days behind Briarcliff’s lifeless, hum-drum walls and potently doubting the love of his life will return to rescue him even beholding his rare bird ever again. Shameless, ominous betrayal slit his heart and spurting a thick bleed of gory cataract. Hopelessness and emotionlessness highlighting his yet charming facial attributes with the scruffy stubble mapping his sharp jaw line and blanched coffee brown irises, losing its true glossiness.

“Mr. Manson, you’re supposed to be quiet instead of letting yourself down!” One of the orderlies rebukingly rejoined at the inmate after stepping inside the hydrotherapy room and dragging his weight up to the bathtub with great deal of efforts.

“Shut your filthy mouths!” The former devotional clergyman croaked a reprimand at the top of his brittle lungs once his knees contacted the marbled bath and one of the orderlies grasped vehemently him, in order to keep him secured without having any intentions to attack either of them and flee in a jiff, whereas the second staff member attempted to peel off the younger man’s vest and scowling ferociously to horrify even more the inmate, hardly giving him an opportunity to escape their vicious claws. The series of pleas and writhes were jading the British compatriot’s muscles and bones, commencing to welt his wrists, leaving traces of outworn skin with mauve tints after one of the staff members headstrongly, steadily clutch his wrists, incapable of protesting physically. “Arghhh!” All of a sudden, his English lilt chanted an infernal profound resonance which sounded far from humanoid’s croaks. Peculiarity spotlighted the diabolic mewl, while the coffee-brown pigment no longer mottled the former holy priest’s embers, thus flaming with the brightest, the most daredevil brass nuance, instantly glinting sheer bloodthirsty covet for avenge, abhorrence and invincible immortality.

“You don’t have the right to swear and use strong language to staff members in the name of disrespect, Mr. Manson!”

“Just keep him quiet with one slap, Graham! Isn’t that har-“ Once the second sanitarian managed to smack a slap behind the patient’s nape of his delicate, oyster-white neck to cut him off, parting his lips in the scoff retaliation, suddenly Timothy casted teleportation in front of the both asylum’s staff members, startling them with his abrupt disappearance in the thin air and being oblivious for them where his current location was until an emphatic, unyielding clicking tongue’s soundtrack tingled bad vibes into their ears and ditheringly turning to face the possessed former holy man, whose ivory, still firm teeth lingered in a bared, baleful grin, decorating his pallid complexion. “Jesus Christ! Owen, I don’t know what has gotten into you but Sister Bernadette should be informed about the next exorcism,” After the British compatriot’s hands manipulated to cast a spell on the both older men, subsequently the telekinetic power shoved them inside the bath, their epidermis seethed due to the gruesomely high temperature of the liquid.

“Cheer up, beautiful assholes!” The unbelievably blowminding explicit language which Timothy has never presumed to utter, subsequently anything explicitly slipping from his tongue was obliviously a third wheel, a daredevil, hoarse snicker stilling on his mouth and his chapped, pale-pinkish lips curled in the scoff, folding his arms victoriously after teaching a lesson to Graham and his colleague. “Have a nice bath, faggots!” The both older adults felt small, vulnerable and powerless to stop the possessed younger man, drowning in the hydrotherapy bath without an ado, just seconds before the former clergyman fled the room before being caught by whether a nun, Dr. Arden or on the contrary a security guard.


	10. Messenger Of God And Lucifer

\--- ***** **\---  
\--- _A Quarter an Hour Later or So _\---

A quarter an hour after Grace opted to provide sufficient comfort and tender warmness to Jude just shortly after acknowledging the breaking news via the radio, the former holy woman hasn't left her own room even though the crystalline, salty tears petered out after welling in her red-rimmed eyelids. She didn't have any intentions of leaving the guest's room and bothering with her own issues and melancholy Kit, besides unspeakably upset Grace.

In spite of the former pious holy woman's immense desire to spend on her own in a separate room, meantime, the young couple were in the living room as they were reclined on the leather sofa and the television screen vibrantly gleamed their hypnotized, fixated jewels on the eye candy pictures, lowly humming a documentary movie about forest animals and their strive for survival.

The time was elapsing slower but surely in the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer's case. The notion of time's advancement in centuries peeled her cells and almost gave her a headache just shortly after the sobs. Her flimsy heart thundered yet in her ribcage, howsoever, uneven with the sluggish motion of tearing off to bones the glassy fragments that constructed the heart and even if a single fragment was missing from the construction, throughout the proper heart's synchronization and functioning was far from adequately, healthily possible. 

“Strangely it’s been a quarter an hour since you helped her on her way to the guest’s room and she hasn’t even left her room.” Heavy, frustrated sigh flushed the young man’s sensitive nostrils, altruistic compassionate contouring his facial attributes as the television screen gleamed brightly his fixated chocolate brown embers, stilling his dangled strong, muscly arms around his girlfriend’s waist.

“Give her some time, Kit!” What the wet, berry-coloured tongue of the French girl crafted in series of vowels and syllables was a piece of advice, oozing of wisdom and simplicity, whereas her lover was nuzzling his nose tip into her medium mop of silken chestnut unruly strands, inhaling the alluring aroma of attractively evergreens unevenly. “She needs some rest and that’s why I brought her in the guest’s room!”

“She looked quite,” Pause scratched the young man’s throat, cusping his mannerism to manipulate a soft clearing off his throat with a cough, muffling it with diminishing the hideous, shrilling decibels. “Guilty!”

“Guilty, because not only because of the broken plate.” All of a sudden, when Kit recalled what the genuine symptom of their friend’s inexorably readable distress across her parchment, yet elderly-youthful complexion was, subsequently his pale-pinkish, softly-satin lips twisted in an unforgiving frown at the thought of the former ambitious Monsignor and his current imprisonment couldn’t be a warm welcome for him to accomplish a hallowed atonement after putting Judy in a mess and he’s partly responsible for her imprisonment.

“I know what you’re exactly talking about!” Cunningness and seriousness touched smoothly the young man’s exclaimation, ushering his dark, fuzzily thick eyebrow to quirk at his girlfriend’s words, tingling an ode to him.

“That ex-priest!” The French young woman managed to emphasize with stridency, her lapis lazuli jewels eagerly pursuing for her lover’s smoky quartz gemstones to link them, in fact, to maintain an appropriate eye contact since their parents have taught them at young age whenever they managed to communicate with, thereafter the eye contacts were the essential key for a decent communication instead of the hideous averts.

“Oh! I don’t have any intentions of returning back in Briarcliff to save his ass!” Frustrated, childlike fuss mewled onward Kit’s pair of pouted baby-pinkish, lusciously soft lips and mild exasperation pumping into his veins like overflowing lava, infusing in a luster cataract of searing liquid. “Jesus, Grace! What’s Judy thinking after sharing a roof together? That every wish of hers is our command?”

“I told her you’d be against to get Timothy out of that hellhole.” Even when the recent broadcasting documentary movie about forest animals was still ongoing, it diminished the genuine notion of an eye candy for the couple just shortly after raising the topic about the former nun and her yearn to venture up to the notorious madhouse even rescue the ex-clergyman, lingering their gemstones in a twain of gazes. “But she doesn’t listen to me at all!”

“I don’t want a friend of mine to be associated in a relationship or anything with a traitor whose freedom is granted to him due to the pitiful condition he’s downfallen!” At the moment, the brunette’s petite, marbled hands lingered clasped into her lover’s grip, ensuring her myriad of warmness, sheer love and security, sensing the true notion of her pearly one of a kind character, characterized in her own deeds and intentions even how much she truly meant to the gasman. “I’d never allow to that ex-Monsignor to ruin her life as much as weeks ago. Judy has had enough of being put through such shitty dilemma with lies and false hopes!”

“Kit!” Suddenly, the French compatriot’s pure graveness, sternness spotlighted her rejoin, growling through her gritted teeth as disappointment coated the gasman’s handsome facial features with a mild perspiration, glinting in the partly pitch-black living room, avenging at his girlfriend’s seriousness which was currently plaguing her words in the intensity of her vowels and syllables shortly after their craft.

“Grace,” Meanwhile, Kit purred a disappointed growl just when his lover manipulated one of her clawed elvish hands into his reassuring grip to yank the remote control and subsequently turn off the series of jumpcutting pictures’ play, embroidered on the television screen as disconcerting activity for the majority of the general population during their leisure time. Mutual warmness no longer absorbed one of the young man’s colossal hands in the scooping seize. “Are you defending tremendously pious man who’s capable of nothing else than fueling his own ego with his pure manipulations and sugarcoated lies on the top of myriad lies?” The hush pitched the room for a half a minute as soon as the television’s playing pictures ebbed out and didn’t gleam its own scintillatingly flashing lights. What the French girl could hardly believe was her boyfriend’s vast self-will and the lacking altruistic compassion, sheening past his charming facial features were far from bearable for her even when she’d modicum of goodwill and compassion for people who were prone to ominously vile deeds and earned their retribution via losing everything and the sole thing they’re recently possessing was their soul. The discord was swelteringly heating and thickly stretching the stings of their temperaments.

“Oh God, honey,” In the meanwhile, the juvenile lady tried her best to abide as cool as cucumber to not aggravate their discord with high-pitched hostile croaks, hovering overally in their small, nevertheless, undeniably comfortable household and the former sleazy nightclub singer starts to mistrust the pure harmony and peaceful serenity they’re oozing of as a young couple, full of vibrant hopes and future in front of them with ocean of opportunities and choices they’d construct every brick of their one of a kind bond even an impending proposal, consequently wedlock and their family in general. “He did a nice thing not only just for both of us,” Readjusting her posture and cozily cupping his cheeks in the palms of her amusingly warm, protective hands, the velvety in her French lilt chanted the optimism, formulated in the sentence and commanding the gasman’s silence abruptly, barely boldly peeling off a single word in the attempts of unzipping his mouth. “But also for his rare bird! Look at us! Thanks to Timothy Howard, we’re all free! The freedom truly means a lot to me.” Grace meowed a honeyed whisper in a docile mumble, venturing her pad of her thumb ushering its muscles to brush her boyfriend’s lower plump lip in its delicateness, spellbindingly. Further, the both juvenile adults could recall just shortly after they shared a roof with the Bostonian, thus one day she opened in front of them about her grim past and anticipating their stark abhorrence to assault her, but the things didn’t happen due to her expectancies at all. They’re rather disgusted by her former fiancé Casey for the criminally adultery breaking her heart alongside with the frequent usage of strong language, addressing with inappropriate, insurmountable nicknames the blonde which have nothing to do with her true character and most of all, ceasing her fertility with a maledictory carnal illness. Syphilis! It sounded disturbingly morbid and extravagantly bone-chilly, menacing every sexually active being or virgins anticipating their first times quite soon to have no longer heirs, inhabiting their wombs or at least seed and sensing the rich fountain of shame and disgust welling into their bodies, swamping with nausea in the pit of their stomachs.

“No matter what he brought to three of us with Lana, my love,” In the meantime, the young man drew his face even closer to his girlfriend, scarcely an inch dividing their moderate proximity, his muscular, toned arms yet supporting her middle contently, protectively as if he swaddled the most precious thing in his compact world. Prominence accentuated his northern lilt. “Even if he helps us financially, I still can’t trust him and grant him the freedom which he gave us!” All of a sudden, the guest’s room door swung opened, ill-famedly creaking to keep the juvenile adults’ wits about the blonde’s flee from her room and being cut off just in the middle of their conversation, fortunately. Moreover, it was oblivious for the former pious member of the church what Kit and Grace have discussed up to the recent moment. “Holy shit! Judy!” Meanwhile, the lights were turned on once the Bostonian’s fidgety spider lily-white fingers clumsily lingered on the light switch, clung to the wall. Luckily, the gasman’s cussing under his breath was solely distinctive for him and the French compatriot. Peering over the couch, curiously searching to examine Judy’s amazing, gracefully lean petite frame, approaching them within seconds in strides of a couple of steps, echoing against the carpeted flooring.

“Come on, birds in love, isn’t slightly too dark for ya?” Hoarseness in the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s snicker didn’t fade away, increasing the couple’s spirits on much higher emotional tiers after a heated argument they just shared in private. The mirth didn’t leave her porcelain, fresh complexion, freshly and neatly crystallized after rinsing her red-rimmed facial skin with comfortably cold water. “Why ya look at me as if I’m on another planet, kiddos?” Her naturally roseate, cherub lips curled in the witty rhetorical posed question, eyeing them affably, glowing at them sheer amicability and alight by Kit and Grace’s hospitability which was one of the crucial reasons why the smile lingered ever-lastingly spread across her mouth.

“You’re as happy as if you’re actually on cloud nine, Judy! Hot goddamn!”

“Well! There are no more tears and sorrow, lingering on me.” After flushing a sigh at the top of her brittle lungs, thus her spider palish fingers managed to reach for a fistful of flossy gilded tresses to tuck them conveniently behind her petite, vulnerable ear idly, instinctively. “Was I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all! We just finished whatever we’re discussing.” Gamely, kindly winking at the older woman, Grace couldn’t help but emit a playful, girlish giggle, demonstrating her unblemished nature whenever she didn’t have anything else to say so much except whatever she kept in mind after interpreting it in her swarm of thoughts and subsequently slithers downward to her organs and her tongue conjugates the imminent words bluntly.

\--- ******* \---

“Come on, Owen! You’ve to collect some rest through the night.” Beehive of orderlies who were instructing the lunatics in the men’s wing to go back in their wards for extra good night sleep or on the contrary dragging them violently, forcefully if they didn’t even follow their instructions at all. The possessed former priest’s tiresome brass gems were fixed on the ocean of patients just like him with stark despondence and angst being enforced to stake inside their own wards with coarse timbres, accentuating their cautions. What it was oblivious for Timothy was that two security guards in charge of a night shift nudged him to attract his attention and push him in his cell, besides hankering the monotonous symphony of criminally insane lunatics’ bewails tingling unholy requiems to him. “Do you even listen to, riot?” After a ferociously forceful push drawing with a few inches distance’s magnification, the British compatriot turned emphatically to face the both antagonizing security guards, crossing his muscly arms coldheartedly, teasingly as if nothing could harm him and halt him from his invincibility. What it flabbergasted the both guards was that the renamed patient didn’t even reaffirm a reaction against their harassment, nor opting to lower his spirits abruptly.

“How funny, pricks!” Daredevil, half-hearted chuckle healthily darkened in his deep, English lilt which wasn’t as moderate as the normal Timothy Howard’s, eyeing skeptically how impotent the mortals were compared to the spawn of Lucifer. “The devil has his own mission and his mission isn’t to sleep right now, losers!”

“Try to do anything about the question!” One of the staff members whimpered a croaking caution, whilst the British compatriot slowly but surely approached in a cocksure gait, indicating his strong and steady self-confidence in each step, drumming against the dully cemented flooring. Diabolical adrenaline pumping into his veins, striving for avenge to daze one of the staff members to win some time and flee Briarcliff, consequently using persistently his clarity to detect consciously his rara avis’s current location and surprise her. “What are you doing?”

“Do not touch us, you disgusting scamp!” A second staff member cried out loud authoritatively, raising an arch of his light, baldly naturally sketched eyebrow.

“Don’t you ever dare even to touch either of us-“ Once the third orderlies chanted his own song without a sequel, suddenly the former religious man of the cloth manipulated his own hands effortlessly to cast an invincible telekinesis, shoving in row his targets to crash vehemently against the cemented, lifeless walls. Immense weariness and sore pain clung to their bones and muscles, sorely groaning in their own succumbing pain and torture, being mesmerized by the patient’s supernatural power which he solely possessed unlike the other humanoids, outnumbering him with their insipid existence and lacking bonus supernatural abilities which had its own fewest owners. “Ouch! Fuck!”

“I think I’m done with all of you!” The victorious, cocksure gait of the former aspiring Monsignor, indicated in his footsteps, drumming silently against the cemented flooring was imprinting his fashionably overconfidence, aiming to the men’s wing door exit and glancing back at the collapsed partly dead, injured bodies of the staff members, offering them a smug, villainous grin, opening his mouth in a wide O and ornamenting with curtain of ivory, honed teeth the baleful bared notch of rich number of teeth.

The last sounds which pitched the injured staff members with severity was the heavy slam of the old, rustily iron door of the men’s wing, abandoned dumped to recline against the walls and rusty doors like half dead bodies, succumbing in their own pain and wounds even scars.

The crucial question of the former ambitious Monsignor was to flee Briarcliff promptly before being caught and returned back in his ward even severely punished for his attempted escape, besides to find his rare bird.

\--- ******* \---

\--- _A Couple of Hours Later or So _\---

\--- _11th of February, 1965_ \---

Once the former holy priest escaped the ill-famed mental institution without being caught and sneaking in Kit’s household where his clarity detected Judy’s current residence.

Even when the smitten British compatriot was tickled gently by the opulent snowfall in three o’clock in the morning, presumably the beauty coma’s hours for the young couple and the blonde, he stepped beside the living room’s partly opened curtain at the early February’s winter prospect, illustrating exquisitely the incarnation of frosty winter with its true colors and forgotten to be closed by either of the recent inhabitants of the small, modest household. His devilish silhouette was mirrored behind his tall figure, cloning his shadow for doubling the eerie atmosphere.

“Oh crap!” Shortly after coming to her senses in the middle of the night, the former licentious jazz nightclub singer stretched her lean, alabaster arms in the thin air after grumbling another anathema, lurching in her throat and ripping her eyelids widely opened at the pitch-black darkness until one of her elvish, blanched hand managed to reach for the nightstand’s lamp to pull the sting and illuminating partly finely the guest’s room. Dehydration plagued the former woman of the cloth and a trip to the kitchen for a glass of water just a few minutes before getting back into her bed wouldn’t hurt her at all.

As soon as her bare feet hopped up in comfy slippers, guarding her petite feet from the chilly climate, consequently her imminent destination was the kitchen after timidly turning the door handle to swing opened the door, giving sufficient compact space for peering over into the hollow’s gap for observation. Petite figure drawing a wobble on her way to the emptily ebony-cloaked-clad corridor with lethal hush and dumping askew opened her room’s door just because she’ll be back within a handful of minutes only.

On her way to the kitchen and pacing in the ebony cloak, obscuring the clearness in her vision to be confident whether if she’s endangered to trip somewhere unintentionally, clumsily or nudge anything with an elbow or hand, elaborating a shattered item, a couple of window taps, louder than the snowfall’s whistle and quieter than seniors’ recurring snores leading to the eardrums to explode caught her off guard, her frail heart thundering awfully uneven in her chest, constricting the megawatt pressure burdening her perfectly normal soft fat and feminine anatomy.

“Who’s that?” An inward echo convinced her hesitantly to enter in the living room and check who’s the uninvited guest rapping on the living room’s window when everybody else were drifted off asleep like peaceful newborn babies after their birth certificates were issued and signed up by their biological parents, cleaned up neatly and smartly even spending enough time with their own creators, made of their flesh and blood.

When the middle-aged lady set a foot in the living room and inspected each corner of the room emphatically, bashfully, all of a sudden something darker caught her eye right away. It was nothing else. It was a humanoid with incessantly glimmering brass embers, blazing naked vengeance and ruthlessness. Far from humanoid’s kindhearted, benevolent facial expression which would break the unknown smitten creature’s complexion. Far from real. Far from a dream.

Within every girlishly demure step, striding to the window, the more the heart rate murderously rocketed momentarily and sinking in oblivion to seek peace or rest for a split second, moistening begrudgingly her lips after manipulating her strawberry-coloured tongue to twirl and spiral in apex’s target the upper and lower plumpish lips to grant her modicum of courage.

Smugly infernal, eldritch grin embraced and blanched her complexion in horror once her honey brown embers were darted to Timothy, donned in his patient’s outfit which was a stone blue denim vest, pairing with light, plain pair of jeans and uninterestingly hoary T-shirt, adumbrating wonderfully his amusingly toned muscles, matching with his eldritch grin and fulsomely luminous tawny orbs. The spawn of Lucifer was awaiting for response even for an action, vouching his impending intentions from the Messenger of God, muffling a hysterical mewl, searing her throat.

“Oh God, Timothy!” At the moment, she fashioned in a balled fist one of her hands, therefore rapping series of times to draw his attention in no time and keep his focus on the Bostonian. She was beyond mortified and disquieted by contemplating his uncommon, unsuitable for icy early morning climate to show more skin rather than deterring it with thicker, cozier and warmer attire to moderate his body temperature and prevailing any symptoms of flu and catching cold. “Come on, honey! Let’s get ya inside somewhere warmer and cozier for yar own good!” After retiring from the living room and venturing to the front door as in her relief neither Kit, nor Grace were even distracted by her footsteps and voice, she turned the rusty key in the keyhole and consequently in a single click the front door was finally opened at the sight of the uninvited guest. The devil and Timothy Howard in one body with two starkly contrasting souls, cusping and feuding one another for domination.

**Author's Note: Since that's a mid-finale chapter, in fact, within 10 chapters the book is going to come to its own epilogue, thereafter what are your thoughts from the beginning up to now? I know what crazy plot twist with possessed Timothy and giving fine Mr. Jingles vibes are perplexing the readers, nevertheless, I don't want to end every story of mine with happy ending even describing constantly whether Jude or Timothy as the good guys as always, subsequently somehow switching their roles from time to time or even turning them in antagonists in certain cases. I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter! :))**


	11. Lucifer's Revenge

** **Author's Note: I guess somebody is going to be dead after this chapter. ** **

_Trigger Warning for _ ** **✞** ** _Strong Language, Gore, Violence, Blasphemy_ ** **✞** **

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"Why did you betray me?" The profound undertone in Timothy's bizarrely infernal posed question, accentuating his sheer despondence and homesickness of not beholdinf his rare bird for awhile and most of all, missing her delicately sultry, indisputably warm caresses, grazing his muscles and prickling his epidermis with electrifying goosebumps. At the moment the older woman stepped aside to give a larger space to her former boss to enter in the small household, his cocksure gait indicating his invincible, insensitivity and immunity to any harm. Vague crystalline tears rimmed his brass mottled gemstones in bright topaz. Tempest of emotions spoke into his gemstones and they were all written across his parchment, unrealistically pallid complexion like a book with widely spread pages.

"It was wrong. Ya were a priest, Timothy!" Bashful timidness punctured the former devotional holy woman's stutter, lurching awkwardly backward and forward on her strawberry-coloured tongue, squinting up her fixated hazelish-brown gems at him after stepping inside the corridor, venturing his lips to part in the flourishing smug grin, baring his balefully ivory teeth, sheening twilight. "I couldn't be with you unless it was yar decision to leave the church, because of me." With a slam, the front door was shut promptly and manipulating her spider alabaster fingers to snap locked, subsequently she meekly ushered Timothy to escort her up to the kitchen.

"Lies on top of lies!" In the meantime, the docile, silent footsteps of the escaped patient echoed sheepishly against the carpeted flooring, following modestly the blonde up to the kitchen after stepping inside and he seated finely polite on the kitchen table.

"I'm not lying. I'm just saying the facts!" Suddenly the younger man ushered his infernally topaz gems to roll cold-bloodedly dramatic, mockingly, mewling a gruntunder his breath, solely distinctive for him, whereas the older lady was propping on the counter. "Would ya like something to drink?"

"Just a glass of water, please!" His insistence begged for the offered glass of water to be instructed in a jiffy as the blonde swung opened the kitchen cabinet, reaching for the rich collection of empty, unused glasses and retrieving a mere glass and thereafter twisting the faucet on, assailing the opulent jet water, splashing the sink's steel surface and pooling up to the rim of the glass with translucent, lukewarm liquid.

"H-How did ya know I'm living here?" What it aroused abruptly the older lady's childlike inquisitiveness was how the former aspiring Monsignor detected her personal information and most of all, nailing her current residence as his brilliantly crystal intelligence sparked in his hurricane of thoughts and spellbinding with a spell. The disinclination, reluctant to be immune to any eloquence in her recently conjugated vowels and syllables in her stammer were instantly detected by the possessed patient, sensing modicum of fear, welling in her petite-frame shortly after twisting off the faucet and swamping the glass with lukewarm, fresh water and dashing in short, versatile steps up to the guest.

The elasticity of the doldrum, muting the background noises in the kitchen and the bracketing rooms which were a couple of yards registering its proximity, stretched the both former pious members of the church as Judy handed gracefully hospitably the glass of water to the younger man, proffering him a sympathetic, hospitable smile, flattening her lusciously natural roseate lips, sensing the swelling pride and melting temperature of her flimsy heart due to granted pampering towards her love interest.

"Thank you, my rare bird!" The obscene deepness in his English lilt, accentuating his altruistic expression of gratitude softened his handsome facial attributes, smeared in scruff with stubble, prickling his gorgeously sharp jaw, embodying his mangy looks with lacking smartening care to fertilize his epidermis and hair, sent shivers down the blonde's spine of sheer embarrassment, paradoxally hyperbolic pleasure when the prominent nickname for his lover was addressed promptly and emphatically. "For how long have you been living with Kit and Grace?" Even when the possessed inmate played goofy as if he had meager knowledge about her recent lifestyle, situated nowadays, he carded his dancing pristinely strong, meaty fingers around the rim of the glass and lugging it up to his mouth, his chapped pale-pinkish lips grazing the frail glass whilst managing to swig a mouthful of tiny, humble sips.

“Since the day ya granted me the freedom.” All of a sudden, the Bostonian managed to push one of the stray chairs to perch her rear and sharing a sufficient quantity of closeness with Timothy even when his quirkily fishy demeanor characterized his unnaturally deep and daredevil voice timbre along with his brass blemished cabochons which were oblivious for the former pious holy woman, barely detecting the alludes of possession or on the contrary the genuine notion of the vile essence, dwelling in the caverns of one of the fallen angels’ bodies and corrupting its unblemished essence with filthy, hideous ebony and embodying every cell of the evil and its saturating contrast with the light and goodwill. “The freedom of not being a patient in Briarcliff which I dearly cherish with every ounce of my heart.” Meanwhile, crystalline, translucent tears welled in the older woman’s caramel brown gems, woeful pity readable overally across her femininely beautiful, delicate facial features whilst examining in a scrutiny her lover’s looks and his leaking somber aura, oozing of him. She was beyond heartbroken and despondent to behold under her gaze the small, mortified and weak inmate of the sinisterly nefarious mental hospital’s spawn of his recent occupation, because she could see her own mirrored reflection, impersonating her identity just a few months ago when Judy was no longer Sister Jude and losing every ounce of her clerical possessions which she’s being stripped off against her will. In spite of the galore of tribulations they’ve been through the past weeks and months whether separated or together, Judy wasn’t very fond of the staff members’ hideous wights of their far-fetched cure methods transmuted him into nothing than an incarnation of the pity, wretchedness and death’s uninvited guest. She’d sacrifice every ounce of her body and muscles to go back into the nefarious mental institution and teach them a lesson in the name of love, avenging for Timothy’s unknown or almost futile institutionalization, characterized by far-fetched symptoms with their own authors and witnesses. “You’re a magnificent human being and person, Timothy! What the hell they did to ya and transmuted ya into an incarnation of the former me?” Velvety tearfulness punctured her coy whisper while manipulating the palms of her petite, healthily creamy hands to card the former aspiring Monsignor’s cheeks, providing him comfort, affection and warmness which was obviously ungifted to him. “I’m pretty scared yar suffering twice as much as I did or more. What those bastards granted ya when I wasn’t there?” Her posed questions begged for his immediate, rational response, whilst one of his colossal, weathered hands’ strong, meaty fingers danced in brace around the rim of the glass, squinting up his smoky quartz, blotched with bright, infernal brass pigment gems, ushering his Adam apple’s seething to swig the salty lump, being all ears at the words of the former sister of the church.

“Dr. Arden and Sister Bernadette accused me I was insane and diagnosed me with schizophrenia even though I spent sleepless days and nights!” Heavy sigh plunked his ribcage with fresh oxygen, unwrapping exquisitely his virginally masculine, delicate fingers from the glass and ushering his both mammoth, amusingly frosty hands to claw the soft calloused-knuckles of his lover, pinning them with extra weight. “There weren’t any behavioral hints of my insanity or at least the mental illness they sentenced me. I was overwhelmed through the whole month just shortly after your release. I couldn’t think clearly and rationally. I never murdered anybody to be accused in insanity.” The quiet, rustproof sobs broke the blonde’s facial expression, sweeping off the mirth which once adorned vibrantly every segment of her anatomy. Palming his well-sculptured, alabaster cheeks as her fingers trailed gently, gracefully his cheekbones, Judy tendered a benevolently radiant, reliable smile, curling upon her mouth even though the woeful nuances, painting her smile. “But a sudden supernatural power had gotten into me and I taught a lesson to some of the orderlies when they’re getting rid off my clothes for the hydrotherapy bathtub and some staff members when it’s finally bedtime for the patients.”

“Ya don’t deserve the hell which those leery bastards have given to ya. At any cost!”

“It’s my nemesis for what I did to you and stripping you off from your possessions. You deserve much better,” After yanking the glass of cool water from the kitchen table and lifting it up to bring beside his mouth, in order to swig a handful of wee, innocent sips, hydrating his organs, he discarded one of his hands from his rare bird’s and taking her both petite, femininely dainty hands into his, kneading with the digits of his fingers in clumsily sluggish pace the brittle knuckles’ highlands, admiring the femininity in her anatomy, structuring her one of a kind physique and God’s dexterous hands carving and mastering her Achilles’ Heel physique for every man whether young or old even enticing eye candy for his monstrous serpentine, imbibing the insatiable charm and grace into her physical looks. “Jude! That’s God’s punishment for my sins and mistakes which are far from forgiving.”

“Never forget for whose arranged release and freedom yar actually responsible for! Never and ever!” The haphazardness of slopping their foreheads, resting on each other’s weight in tandem waltz, vaguely brushing each other’s intricately soft facial skins, locking up one another’s ogles until Judy’s caramel brown jewels wrenched widened in extensive stupefaction at the sight of deftly changeable irises’ pigments from the familiar, soothingly warm pools of profound chocolate brown into the foreign, coldheartedly bloodthirsty, egregious citrine daredevil sanctums of unsacredness and demise. “I’m also partly responsible for this. Ya remember, don’t ya?” As soon as the vibrantly sheening citrine nuances arrayed his big, round crystals, glimmering the brightest beryl, casting its ray perpendicularly, a ferociously aggressive, extraneous growl rolled out of the tip of the younger man’s berry-coloured, wet tongue, subsequently the blonde retired with a handful of inches, ditching her hands from his grip, flinching and reclining backward on her chair, verging sloppily to slump heavily on the kitchen flooring, parting her lips in a wide O.

“You’re the one who didn’t even bother to walk away from the asylum with the lovey doveys when I wanted to speak to you.” Thereafter the British compatriot registered his colossal, veiny milky hands to cast a spell as sequence of splintering the recent furniture which Judy was seating and fortunately, lifting up her rear from the cozy surface just before landing on her lower back on the chilly floor, elaborating breathy, idle pants and gritting her teeth intimidatingly, registering a strenuous stance, connoting her in self-defensive attitude. “Just for a minute!” Fashioning into a balled fist and forcefully slamming the dining table with the slight wince of the liquid from the supportive glassware artifact, consequently he honed the sharpness of his glare, acerbically skeptical shot at the former sleazy nightclub singer, straightening her posture and attempting to compose her own muscles and bones even though the intensifying rumpus where she’s victimized. “To turn your back to face me after I called your name! Kit and Grace told you I needed to tell you something but you just minded your own business.” Suddenly the young man straightened his posture from the kitchen table and commenced to approach with each step his rare bird, whose proximity was unchangeable when she withdrew backward with an inch at least, generous layer of perspiration thickly, marvelously coating her eyebrows’ cusp, quizzically arching a dark, thin eyebrow. “Where your mind was then? Don’t you ever dare to lie to me or exaggerate anything that has to do with our story then!” The menacing highlight which his strawberry-coloured, wet tongue conjugated, spilled venomous locution, whilst Judy’s heart beat rapidly rabid increased and thudding vehemently into her ears and bony ribcage.

“W-Why yar doing this? Why are ya even thinking this way?” The sharp exhale’s haphazardness sailed and hauled with great deal of efforts from her chest, flump backward, reclining against the counter’s drawers, stoicism roughly granulated her facial attributes, enduring the severe physical and mental agony, afflicting her bones, muscles and cells with puny quantity of time to nimbly evincing her reactions before it’s too late. “Is it to punish me?”

“No, I’m not punishing you, Jude!”

“This is punitive is what this is. We’ve forgiven each other. Happily! I’m happily having a fresh start. I’m just happy.” In the meanwhile, her hazelish-brown jewels flamed brutal honesty, primly baleful with medley of compassion, stoicism and angst, swallowing hard. “We’re just,” Then the former priest seized his chapped pale-pinkish lips in a thoughtful, emphatic purse, hunkering down past his lover’s reclining body, locking up with her teary gaze. “I love you, Timothy, and I would do anything for ya! Would ya even consider,” The leaked revelation tore off the both former members of the clergy’s hearts on glassily mineral segments, shattered randomly, daubing with her elbow the twin heavy rain pouring on her porcelain, still elderly youthful complexion. “Ya come in here, and you wave your diabolic yellow eyes, smelling of dangers and trouble in my face, when you would be never capable of hurting any female or me.” Indicating herself with her spidery palish fingers her chest, fingering and tipping her pajama’s fabric, whereas Timothy rolled his eyes teasingly, devilishly and flaring his nostrils ferociously, furiously as adrenaline pulsated into his tall figure. “There’s your word and there’s my word. And you know perfectly well, I know you personally well to assimilate yar mannerism and what yar intentions actually are.”

“You’re a liar!”

“No! What…How…What?” Inhaling the pungent reek of heavy medicaments, urine and mold, wafting past her flexible button nose, series of stutters stubbornly defected her syllables and vowels, troubling to drip from her tongue tip, snapping shut her eyelids for a split second until they stung widened in bewildering shock, mirroring her apprehension and nonplus crystally clear.

“Yeah. How else could I detect your lies, indicated in your actions, taking its place a month ago?” Meanwhile, the possessed inmate moistened his dryly cracked, baby-pinkish lips after spiraling vertically his tongue to sponge his lower and upper lip. “Your selfishness! Your fears!” The former licentious jazz nightclub singer managed to daub her last drying tears with her digits hesitantly nimble, snatching her lower lip between her front creamy-coloured teeth, nipping the delicate skin of its raw spot. “Your broken promises?” The elasticity of doldrum’s tissue stretching the both adults’ dilemma manufactured a foreign gasp, elaborated at the top of the older lady’s brittle lungs. “No! Oh my God, Jude! Empty words?”

“It’s rather my selflessness. I knew so far that yar were tremendously dedicated to your golden ambition to become a Cardinal and then a Pope! But I’m not a liar.”

“Oh! Per se,”

“Listen to me, Timothy!” All of a sudden, the British compatriot straightened his posture and composed it nonchalantly as if nothing wrong has happened, objecting series of speculative theories behind the intensifying atmosphere, troubling the both former members of the church. “No! Listen! No!” The advancement of her decibels tingled alarming tones into Timothy’s ears, averting his glare for a split second from his rara avis, inhaling and then exhaling subtly. “There is only one truth and we both know it, okay? It’s complicated, all right? So please, let’s adjust the diplomacy like grown adults! Nobody is going to be hurt.” When his topaz minerals glistened the brightest ray and landing into a scintillating glare whilst gritting maliciously his teeth, he manufactured his mammoth, virginal hands into balled fists, lingering his obviously peeved frown flattening his pair of cherub lips.

“I’m gonna make you a deal, Judy!” In the interim, the younger man ushered his hands to hex invincible telekinesis on the older woman and effortlessly, slothfully levitating her petite-frame, stilling the hex just before finishing his utterance. “I won’t hurt Kit or Grace or anybody, if you grant your soul to the devil!” As soon as the older woman shook her head in dismissing the offer to vend her soul to the vile’ spawns, in order to liberate from imperil her recent sole friends from the daredevil dilemma, meantime, gesticulated with a single arm horizontally and spellbinding the telekinetic power to trash Judy against the kitchen’s window, throughout thudding the window’s slew glassy fragments vitiating her reclined petite-frame against the wall and her spine supporting her helplessly seated posture, bleating series of shrilling, ugly whimpers, almost distinctive for her and the possessed former man of the cloth. Wonderfully patchy bleeding slits and bruises glinted scarlet miniature vista at the sight of Timothy, ambling up to his lover in cocksure gait. “The more you reject this offer, my rare bird, the more you and your beloved friends will suffer!” Hooking her trembling fingers clumsily around her bleeding wrist, she lowered shamefacedly her jaded eyeing to the scraps of shattered glass segments, pronging her delicate flesh.

“Holy Jesus! N-Never!” Blatant groans skidding of her tongue tip, whilst panting and trying to perch her toes on the kitchen floor and dash to her bedroom to retrieve the Holy Bible, reciting in a murmur the prayers. “Ya aren’t Timothy who I ideally know! Yar a monster and the devil that controls him.” In the meanwhile, the Bostonian hopped out of the countertop, stolidity patched her porcelain, pallid complexion, dashing out of the kitchen in no time and her pace’s calculation interpreted in humdrum drums, resembling an elephant’s footsteps. “I’m never going to sell my fucking soul for the sake of the evil just to make sure anybody is safe because of this finely pointless offer.” After blocking with a chair the door, in order to diminish the chances of the uninvited guest to break into the guests’ room abruptly, the middle-aged lady scurried up to the right nightstand, rummaging the top drawer for the Holy Bible and rosary beads which were leftovers of Kit’s heritage from his parents who were sufficiently pious to attend the church once a week and granting their son to have an ample hallowed equipment for prayers and casting away the vile spirits from the small household. Once the rosary beads danced in braces around her fingers and sitting on her double bed, spreading widely the Holy Bible’s pages and flipping the pages with inked paragraphs, embroidered to the flimsy pages, the former holy man scurried up to the guests’ room, stepping beside and maneuvering his hands to perform mind control and telekinesis on his recent target. Jude. “No!” All of a sudden, the leather, thick Holy Bible’s flipped cover flumped and pinned the former religious woman of the cloth’s dainty marbled fingers, while ushering the dancing brace of rosary beads circa her fingers to uncurl and opt to suffocate herself, per se tugging headstrongly the hallowed chaplet perpendicularly, chewing on her tongue. Vowels and syllables waltzed in twains in her oral caverns, barely constructing a rational utterance. The maniacally infernal, deep chuckle with its owner suffocating the nocturnal midnight silence and eavesdropping the stirring young couple, emanating from their bedroom they shared together for more than a month and their intentions to check the ruckus’s sequence until their door clicked shut, incapable of fleeing their romantic sanctuary.

“You know neither the baloneys paged up in the Bible, nor the rosary will help you now, dear Judy! In a New York minute, everything will end delightfully.” His uncanny telekinetic mastery authoritatively was loitering the tight grasp of the chaplet yet, whereas the Bostonian mewled series of blatantly blathers with no specific modicum of sense, spotlighting the words and combating dyslectic vowels and syllables. Meanwhile, the patient lingered the mind control and leak every ounce of her hurricane of thoughts and intentions, throughout miring them irreparably with the Holy Bible dropping clumsily on her feet and grazing with its solid leather cover her vulnerably petite toes. Thereafter her figure levitated upward to the ceiling after mischievously wounding and weakening her physique with desperate crying stamina for rest and supplies to congeal. Within a half a minute keeping the manipulation of the elaborating conjurations, thus his fingertips flickered up beginnings of tiny, citrine flames, igniting the delicate pallid skin of his digits.

“Release me!”

“A te, de l’essere Principio immenso, Materia e spirito, Ragione e senso,” The prologue of the Hymn of Satan’s prayer fell from Timothy’s masculinely plumpish, baby-pinkish lips, sitting on his knees in performing the fiendish ritual of Satan’s hymn and summoning the ignition of his rara avis’s fiery blanket to swaddle her muscles and dissolving her from muscles until her bones were dumped as remnants. Smugly supercilious, scintillating grin curved his lips in straddling them in the ivory enamel exposure, wrenching shut his eyelids. “Mentre ne’ calici, Il vin scintilla, Si’come l’anima, Ne la pupilla,” In the interval, inevitably iniquitous flames kindled the former nun’s body on the ceiling and crying out loud for help.

“Help me!”

** **Author's Note: I know how many people despise me due to this brutal cliffhanger, nevertheless, it's never too late to enchant with some pain and torture the characters. Furtermore, if you aren't familiar with Latin, subsequently the Hymn of Satan's translation from Latin into English is this:** **

_To you, creation’s_

_mighty principle,_

_matter and spirit_

_reason and sense_

_Whilst the wine_

_sparkles in cups_

_like the soul_

_in the eye_

** **Anyway I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter though the dialogues were longer than the actual situation! ** **


	12. Hospital

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\--- _A Few Hours Later or So ---_

A few hours after the possessed former priest broke into his lover's current residence and kindling her petite-frame though her fortunate survival after the kindle sloughing her fleshy muscles and welts, registering the glass fragments' welts mapping her delicate, nacreous arms, legs, torso and porcelain, elderly youthful complexion, Judy was conveyed to the nigh hospital shortly after Timothy vanished in the thin air and every invincibly resolute conjuration no longer was registered to be up to date. The symptom of the default adjustment of the clicked unlocked door released Kit and Grace from their vibrantly romantic sanctuary and ventured to phone the ambulance after ascertaining the sequence of the daredevil game of Timothy, situated in the kitchen and guests' room.

What it hideously flummoxed the juvenile couple was their friend with the former title of nefarious prestige of a tormentor was wounded and the vast harrowing sore pain sedating her upper body and lower body muscles especially her legs. They've never behold the former devotional sister of the church in such helplessly, sinisterly despondent condition after embracing with open arms as their second nature to object her vulnerable side, mirroring her weaknesses and incessant haunting demons. They haven't predicted the sequence of the possessed inmate's daredevil game to indisputably, flawlessly play his own cards right and unlocking his rare bird's vulnerable vista, embodying her vulnerability, bewitching ominously her stamina and lowering her spirits, diminishing her self-esteem momentarily.

"Ambulance, it's urgent!" The stormy tempest of nurses, hampering to the senior doctor who was visually in his late fifties with grizzly, balding neatly trimmed a handful of days ago haircut was capping above his large ears, matching with his amber brown cabochons and expressively dark, thickly hoary eyebrows. His mammoth, wrinkle-calloused hands were roughly grappling the ambulance bed, ushering to patient room 104, scooting to pass a handful of nurses who were working a night shift and were retreating to random patient rooms in the grandiose, old façade. “Ms. Martin is with severe burns from the fire and glass wounds!” Doctor Timon Banks was his actual name. He stood 5’9 with his outstandingly vague rotund body structure, barely contradicting him from his peers who were overlooking to keep balance diet and struggled with the weight loss even regarding as excessively remarkable their appearance in their midlife segment of their lives, in fact, they’re no longer gullible and vulnerable to the general population’s crudely cold, ruthlessly blunt comments on their looks. His opulent career as a doctor in one of the local Boston hospitals was a celestially superlative bonus in his life as a happily married man to a volunteer in the church and triplets from their marriage.

Within series of strides, buzzing to patient room 104 and accompanied by the young couple who were far from unlucky to seek a first aid with telephoning exceedingly the ambulance, consequently the patient room’s door swung widely opened when Timon dumped the hospital bed with the drifted off asleep patient, whose impotent condition crucially affected the motionlessness of her muscles, recently suffocated in prominently promising relaxation. His trembling mammoth, roughly ridged with tiny folds hand maneuvered to reach for the doorknob and turn it, while the juvenile couple bandied glimpses, tendering each other gullibly optimistic smiles, hazily glimmering wryly unquiet subtlety. Their heart rates rapidly rabid increased with each advancing moment the very wee hours of the morning with the somber, still nefariously nocturnal cloak swathing outdoors, painting with the same brush the starless mid-February night prospect.

Even when Kit and Grace’s wedlock was due in early March, besides their unborn child was due in the end of the year and brightening their greatly potential relationship with galore of adventurous and elating moments to share altogether and recollect them as brass fragments of memories, on other hand, they weren’t apparently serenely elated tonight just shortly after putting the missing fragments of their puzzle’s solution with Jude’s relationship they separately shared as individuals.

After a month of intransigent efforts to repair the toxicity which the young adults apportioned them from having a healthily friendly platonic relationship with the former pious woman of the cloth in foisting effortlessness in the petty things such as cooking, laundry, dishes, cleaning, housework in general and namely anything refilling their daily schedule and leisure time, they couldn’t get over their friend’s hopelessly despair after she told them everything about her nemesis with its owner Lucifer’s spawn, namely changing onward their lives within a couple of hours only and sensing the genuine notion of imminence, imperiling their moderately serene lifestyle as future parents and possible godmother of their unborn ray of sunshine, residing Grace’s womb nonetheless.

In spite of the young adults were the genuine mere representatives of atheism or rather faithless status, they were chimerically mesmerized by the supernaturality partaking nowadays when the possession was far from common phenomenon, encountered whether in children or adults. Devil’s possession was peculiarly characterized per se for the medieval in their humble opinions except according to the former holy woman’s pure, pragmatic philosophy. As a former religious holy woman, solemnly taking her vows of chastity and poverty for a decade and a half, in order to liberate herself from the free lifestyle which every common, typical American would indulge himself with the insanely boozed rotguts in the bars, one night stands with every town pump and the ultimate carte blanche of unlimitedly sinning though in her case the insanely boozed liquor was her methodical alternative to free the reins off her open-mindedness in her romantic relationships after her fiancé dumped her on the wedding day prior with the vicious carnal sickness that ceased her natural fertility to accomplish her pearly sole dream, paired with the unspeakable adultery. Having her own family and her own of kind creations, made of her flesh and blood.

Furthermore, the vows which almost every nun obtains as a solemn pledge of lingering her faith to the almighty God and marrying herself along with her flesh to him as his hallowed possession, it was the initial ever encounter in her entire life with an infernal wight of Satan and most of all, attaining its own residence in Jed Potter’s vulnerable body then linking the vile essence shortly after his death with Sister Mary Eunice and spontaneously chasing down the British compatriot even when he was no longer serving the clerical duties due to his clerical possessions weren’t owned by him ever again.

When the three adults stepped inside the booked room for the Bostonian and Timon laid her on the patient bed after heaving her weightlessly motionless body from the ambulance bed, subsequently the procedures of nursing and incessantly superintending the heart pulses on the heart rate monitor were already manifested forcefully, emphatically.

Three o’clock in the morning was looming on the horizon with the meager daylight light as a wee hint of sunrise’s daily episode. The wall o’clock in the sufficiently expansive room ticked surreptitiously quiet, indicating the exact time at the moment, tingling alarming tones into the French girl and her boyfriend’s ears.

In the interim, the French girl and her boyfriend had recently perched their rears on the edge of the hospital bed, specified on Judy’s right side.

“Everything is going to be fine, Grace! Judy is going to be fine.” The cusp of realism and optimism, feuding Kit’s consciousness maneuvered his colossal, secure hand to slither downward to his lover’s pudgy bump which was scarcely visible and bulging with its own of a kind bloated soft fat, grazed beneath his creamy palm and pads of his fingers. The alarming tunes of heart rate monitor’s ballad pitched the ward, veiled in a nocturnally lethal doldrum, composing its own symphony of numbness.

“Kit, she’s severe burns and glass bruises which are obnoxiously serious even,” The heavy sigh humped with great deal of efforts at the top of her frail lungs, dropping her head with medium mop of ticklish silken chestnut strands on his broad, muscly shoulder while scarcely flinching at the manipulated draped muscly, masculinely strong arm around her upper back and venturing to draw her in their intimate proximity with deficient inch. “Even way too disturbing to be seen with a naked eye.” The attempts of the French compatriot to muffle her velvety, timid whisper under her breath after the vowels and syllables were sluggishly headstrong conjugated due to the unavoidable heartbreak, penned all over her youthfully charming facial attributes like an uncommon relic.

“Shu, shu, shu, darling! Everything is going to be alright. Judy is doubtlessly one of the strongest women I’ve ever seen with ya!” Ushering his cherub, pale-pinkish lips to press into a tender peck on her forehead, scrapping with the delicate skin of his cherub lips the alabaster facial skin which bewitchingly the young woman molted in, wrenching shut her lapis lazuli minerals for a split second and smug hedonism draining off the cold, untouched areas of her figure with modicum of tenderness. “No matter if she’s hospitalized for a few days or a month, she will be on her feet sooner than later!”

“Do you know what exactly happened to Ms. Martin by judging her current condition?” The Iowan lilt danced smoothly in a sharp accent, spotlighting his enquiry after shifting his attention momentarily to the couple and the heart rate monitor’s noises asserted unsightly, malaise dismaying tunes into the visitors’ ears like throbbing vibrations into their eardrums, braced with headphones as a music source to listen to for distraction even though the metaphoric rough slap across Kit and Grace’s faces for testifying the most intensifyingly ugly haunting melody they’ve ever hankered inside the grand façade of the cure, death and medicines, dividing the borderline of the life and demise horizontally.

“There was a possessed man who’s her old friend and suddenly attacked her, accusing her in betrayal and lies even using supernatural power such as telekinesis, pyrokinesis and mind control.” Meanwhile, bitter lump seethed up, outstandingly bulging Kit’s Adam apple inexorably and clearing his throat with a cough just shortly before delivering the answer which the doctor’s enquiry was begging for in no time, stilling his supportive muscly, strong arm circa his lover’s upper back for supplying the urgent comfort, warmness and love. “He was way more powerful than we’ve thought with my girlfriend. He locked us in our bedroom so that to react as quickly as possible.”

“Sir,” All of a sudden, the senior doctor lingered his gawk at the juvenile pairing, honing up his sharper sternness in his piercing amber brown minerals, flattening his berry-coloured, chapped lips in an unwelcoming, aloof frown. Incredulity was broadly obscuring his heavy wrinkles gloomily, unable to grant modicum of naked belief in the younger man’s leaked evidence behind the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s speechlessly obnoxious condition.

“Believe him, doctor! We witnessed the true face of horror and devil tonight. And speaking of her, she used to be a nun and she had to deal once with a possessed by the devil young man.” The young lady’s haphazardness in her emphatic persistence to intervene in the gentlemen’s heated debate where the doctor finely disapproved his belief in the evil and witnessing the horrors which once the general population were key roommates and contemplating daily the incarnation of apocalyptic supernatural segments such as exorcism, possession and so forth.

“Ma’am and sir, we aren’t living in the Middle ages!” The sharp exhale, rolling off onward the bald gentleman’s lungs punctured his professional graveness and austerity, blending in a medley of stilling incredulity in the visitors’ utterances yet, rolling his amber brown gems dramatically, cold-bloodedly. “What on earth makes you believing such fairy tales for little children or from the Bible?” In the interval, the older man snatched his old pair of round-rimmed eyeglasses in a swift motion and thereafter managing to lift up his mammoth, stiffly veiny hand to the bridge of his nose and motioning his meaty fingers to rub the gentle, marbled flesh.

“We aren’t exaggerating or anything. We’re the only witnesses with Ms. Judy Martin who have seen those atrocities that are uncommonly occurring nowadays.”

“Look what, sir and ma’am! Even as an atheist, myself, I have never believed there is good like God or otherwise evil like Lucifer and Satan!” Suddenly, the brunette intercepted her lower lip fastened by her front ivory teeth and pecking flatly the raw spot of its lip’s silken soft skin, darting a skeptical eyeing to the pairing yet, his meaty digits teasingly, futilely playing with his eyeglasses’ frames. “But as a non-believer in any religion, I’m leaning to believe you the thing that is criminally responsible for your relative’s awful condition somewhat exists or at least is witnessed by the others.”

Stilling the inwardly ticking clock, indicating the unvarnished time in the small city of Massachusetts, the ward’s merged blinds in a thick knight mantle obscured the former aspiring Monsignor’s stark vision to penetrate with his piercing topaz gems through the glassy medium-sized window. His delicate, pallidly weathered fingertips lingered on the glass. The immunity against the glacial wintery climate which was orthodoxly diminishing naturally the body temperature with a single, invisibly subtle touch perpetually, it didn’t halt him from giving up his hopes to discover and mindly contemplating his rare bird being hospitalized and recovering from his unbelievable tremendous damage.

The real Timothy Howard would never harm even opt to belittle his rare bird in every single way except one of the most powerful, blowmindingly mastered in mind control and sheer manipulations demons. More powerful than the devils, representing presentably, smartly the seven deadliest sins, epitomizing the lavish operation of emotions and feelings, reckoning needs. The most potent amidst them. Demogorgon! Demogorgon sounded soarly steel to lace any owner’s vocal stings with its already constructed vowels and syllables, slipping from their mouths sloppily. The fiendish deity was exquisitely playing his own cards right and inhabiting one of the most vulnerable priests, holding him captive relentlessly. His quests were indisputably evident. Doom! Apocalyptic affliction and torture over his loved ones especially the owners of the broken words and false promises! Every deadly sin was swaddling emboldeningly the possessed patient and nudging him to commit another unforgivable sin.

“How pathetic!” His English lilt, rolled in an infernal cavern’s depth and marvelously coated with unnaturally eeriness punctured his rhetorical exclaimation, absent-mindedly tipping and playing onto the glass’s surface, tugging a complacently villainous, profoundly merciless grin at his mouth and spreading broadly across his already flexed jaw.

The rich beehive of snowflakes’ whistling in solo, humdrum choir and dancing restlessly blunt in the thin air until accumulating their own weight on every surrounding with lavishly snowy blanket. 

**Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for this finely sloppy chapter, nevertheless, I was oozing of tremendous ideas and eager to pour my ideas for future plot twists, linking with the storyline, besides I'd blame myself for delaying with the updates anyway! I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter as well! :))**


	13. Demon's Wight Exposed

\--- *********** \---  
\--- _2 Weeks Later or So _\---  
\--- _28th of February, 1965 _\---

Within the elapsing double episodes of the week at snail's pace and recovering from the sinister searing and glass bruises, mapping her delicate, marbled flesh, she received daily visits by Kit and Grace in the hospital. Judy wasn't alone at all and it was granting her modicum of sheer hope and high spirits, cusping optimism and realism in a stark feud. The middle-aged lady still believed her philosophy and the regular visits she earns from her friends would rapidly meliorate her critical condition that has slight progress with each advancing day.

Her philosophy obligated her to not lose faith even if it takes slightly longer than the usual to recover from the medley of sore pain, unamusing despondence and loneliness, factly, Judy has been through abundance of tough tribulations, blocking her way to ultimate felicity and stark success.

With almost each visit in the hospital, the young couple in love were bringing huge bouquets of breathtaking, vibrant flowers with exquisitely enveloped variety of colorful bows, besides chocolate boxes and some home-made food.

Notwithstanding the circumstances, the young couple spent a few hours daily to accompany and vibrantly fortifying her self-esteem and high spirits' stability as well such as discussing galore of topics that aroused their interest or at least were part of their care.

Furthermore, it's been two weeks since the blonde has lastly seen her lover which was exactly situated with his asylum's escape and venturing into the small household.

Little did she know about his current condition and what on earth was going on with him except lingering the somber, yet freshly painful memory of the trauma he viciously scrapped and scarred her hurricane of thoughts. Even though what Timothy left severe, inexorably irreparable tracks of his damage, she was yet leaning to forgive him and grant him a second chance, although the lower chances of its honesty. At least, with the motion of lifted up ounce from her shoulders with granting a prominent second chance to the former ambitious Monsignor and hurricane of relief cleansing the held grudges if he wasn't ever forgiven.

Moreover, the former devotional woman of the cloth was keep telling herself everything will be alright and acknowledging the vile essence possessing his frail skeleton is a brilliantly good excuse to concede the atonement which was far from candidly deserved in his case. Sooner or later, the vile essence would dwell out of his frail skeleton and no longer command infernally unyielding every muscle of his to venture an unspeakably blowminding deed against his morality and anybody's expectancies, in her humble opinion.

Furthermore, the authorities and the nefarious asylum were investigating every outskirt of the small city of Massachusetts, in order to find the renamed former Monsignor and Owen Manson the name, known as the possessed escaped patient of Briarcliff was frequently exceeding announced on every source for news such as newspapers, television and radio for his exceeding investigation in Boston. Even though Timothy earned ocean of dingy, vexed twains of eyes fixated on him as a celestially center of attention object whether on the streets, inside any facility or even a compact room, the most potent devil yet commanded him to play out the peculiarly cunning plans which he’s plotted for the recent prey of spirit possession. Demogorgon was lingering his artfully genius ideas and mindcontrolling Timothy to register every unimaginable, malicious deed with explicitly graphic vista from the point of views of the general population’s crowd witnessing every moment of the daredevil game’s notion, illustrated in uncanny deeply daredevil voices recited in Satan’s prayers, gory scenarios and either physically weakened, succumbing in their own bleeding wounds and scars victims of confronting the former pious holy man or on the contrary motionless, baptized in blood pool corpses.

While the British compatriot was on the compact balcony of the grand building, neatly, smartly donned up in a doctor’s work outfit, seating on a comfy outdoor chair in the middle of the night, no doctor in charge of the night shift was recently accompanying him for a few minutes to share cluster of shenanigans from their daily lives and smoke tobacco, relishing each second of their pearly brief break from pacing in the profoundly long hallways of the facility, supervising physically impotent patients and venture necropsy of the newest deceased patients, succumbed by their illnesses or sore pain, antagonizing their nonchalant peace with themselves and their sole wish which they covet to be accomplished was their demise, in order to halt the pain and genuine torture.

The nocturnal winter frosty climate scarcely affected the former aspiring Monsignor’s body temperature even smacking a frosty slap of trepidation, contaminating his fleshy muscles to be under the weather. An ordinary starless night with rich snowfall pelting down in the small city of Massachusetts and featherly-soft winter zephyr dancing and whirling vigorously in the thin air, wafting its luxurious fragrance of snow past the British compatriot’s nostrils after manipulating the cigar length to gap his naturally baby-pinkish, cherub lips and subsequently lighting it up with an old lighter which he has found lost in his office that was left by a former doctor who passed away less than a week ago due to a natural cause.

Although the possessed young man relished the solicitude and spending modicum of his leisure time in smoking tobacco and mediating mindly and consciously, his heartache, scarring his very soul due to Judy’s betrayal and her despaired, yet recovering condition. The solicitude was as meditative as bedeviling for him and suffocating him in a miniature bubble of melancholy, or rather, the small world of his own vortex of thoughts and doubts, constructing each negative sentiment particularly with an ease and difficultly ditching.

Shortly after liting up the cigar length with an ease and his virginally strong fingers danced around the nicotine line, consequently he took a long drag at the cigarette and his pale-pinkish, cherub lips parted in a soft O, excreting a cloudy hoary dim, mussing with poor opacity towards the lavish dance of the tiny, alabaster snowflakes.

“Holy!” Timid vowels and syllables formulated the cussing, ruthlessness touched his English lilt with profound, breathy gasp after taking his very first drag at the cancer stick, thus darting his smoky quartz to the nocturnal wintery prospect.

Suddenly the balcony’s en-suite door swung timidly opened at the unknowledgeable presence of another doctor, who was approximately in his late thirties standing 6’1 with leanly muscly body structure, ideally and gracefully bulging his masculinity with his paired dark auburn neatly trimmed haircut, capping his head. In addition to his still youthfully appealing physique, his lips were oddly authentically thin, matching with his jet-black minerals and expressive dark thick eyebrows. Last but not least, he’s working as a doctor in the local hospital for a half a decade and he’s rather a peculiarly prominent doctor with angel shapeshifting form even battling with the vile essences that were populating the inmates’ frail skeletons for years. His name was Josiah Chance Crawford.

“Hey Josiah!” In the meanwhile, the former clergyman glanced back at the approaching tall figure that was seating alongside him, lingering his vaguely prim smile, tugged at the corners of his mouth, barely averting his magnified gaze from the other doctor. Pinkness itched his well-sculptured, chubby cheeks immediately with sweltering heat creeping underneath his creamy facial skin. “You are stopping on the right track for a cigarette.” A playful wink was shot at the angelic humanoid, while stabbing the cancer stick between his lips and snatching the cigarette pack, lazily opening the ingress with the remaining quantity of cigarettes under the glowing angelic gawk, his jet-black minerals emphatically snapped in a frequent choir of blinks shortly after kindly accepting his colleague’s cigar length which was lighted up with the lighter within a couple of seconds only until he starkly careless tossed back the lighter and cigarette pack on the round table. “Needless to thank me for the cigarette anyway! You’re always welcome.” Even though Josiah noticed pure cues in his colleague’s unorthodoxly offbeat demeanor lately and Timothy’s stubborn attempts to obscure any cues of his possession such as his supernaturally diabolically profound timbre, accenting his utterances and eerily brass pigment scintillatingly sheening his naturally huge, round pools of deep, consoling chocolate brown.

“You have always been kind to every co-worker, Timothy!” The hoarseness in Michiganian’s chuckle, clicking the roof of his mouth didn’t fade away, thus choiring a symphony of half-hearted jubilance when the former inmate participated eagerly. “No wonder why you’re sincerely trusted!” After taking his initial puff at his cigar length, subsequently the Michiganian curved his thinly strawberry-coloured lips in a surreptitiously soft O, ejecting a weak grizzly cloudy dim. The pungent reek of tobacco inescapably invaded the hospital’s balcony on the fourth floor.

“A delightful pleasure as always, Josiah!” At the moment, the former pious clergyman ushered his dancing fingers around the cancer stick to draw starkly from his plumpish lips and thus expel another inexorably heavier hoary fog and delightfully glimmering incessantly his brass irises, glimpsing at the late-February prospect, admiring in awe the natural esthetics of winter’s ethereally endless grace.

Eventually through Demogorgon’s villainous plans to depict his recent prey of spiritual possession, he managed the British compatriot be austerely instructed inwardly by his own master what would be the impending steps of their apocalyptic plotted concepts, poured into their creations’ hard work such as manipulating and propagandizing the doctors shortly after surreptitiously thieving a work uniform to conceal any hints of his notorious protagonist which he was playing the essential role. Owen Manson. The other name or the other side of Timothy’s true face.

“I was thinking it’s a great part of the day to relax under the starless moonlight and smoke tobacco while working a night shift in the hospital.”

“Sounds pretty exhausting, huh, buddy?”

“Only if I were a whiny baby.”

All of a sudden, the both gentlemen broke their facial expressions with uncontrollably healthy, breathy guffaws, scratching their throats, consequently wrenching shut their incessantly blinking eyelids for a split second, relishing the comical moment warming the pit of their stomachs.

As soon as the guffaws vanished in the thin air of the midnight’s episode ambience, the both gentlemen resumed smoking, painfully suffocated by the nocturnal’s hush until the angel averted his midnight black pools from the vista and eyed jadedly, blankly the monumentally somber silhouette of his colleague, mirroring the pale green’s wall with the unseen before devilish horns seeded on his chestnut hair. Sluggishly maneuvering his throat muscles to stretch in swig the salty lump, bubbling up in his Adam’s apple, a grotesquely hostile frown was fixed on his thin strawberry-coloured lips. Meanwhile, the disturbing elasticity of the stretching tissues of the doldrum drew Timothy’s attention, venturing to lock up his cocoa brown jewels, flaming glacial brass pigments with brilliant saturation and sharpness, offering him an idiotically wry smirk, foxily decorating his facial attributes.

“For heaven sake,” A sarcastically, mincingly heavy sigh divulged at the top of Timothy’s brittle lungs, whereas Josiah flared ferociously inward his tiny, flexible nostrils, taking another puff of his cigarette, piercing the sharpness of his skeptical glare, grimacing his facial expression dramatically in no time. “What’s that facial expression on your face, Josiah?”

What the Michiganian detected in his co-worker was not only his peculiarly prissy demeanor, spotlighting his mannerisms and body language, further the inevitable acknowledgment of devil’s wight spawn, balefully increasing his heart rate and the rabid pulsations of the thuds clinging to his ribcage. He was far from goofily absent-minded to be not dedicated to the bizarre petty details, painting in darker brush the absolute reality and every being’s identity. His indisputably crystal intelligence and rich knowledge, geminated with opulent experience with fighting the demons of every person could easily detect in a swift motion and a single second which was the imminent victim of Lucifer and most of all, contaminating with its contagious diabolic epidemy every cell and weight of the fragile skeleton’s owner.

“What has gotten into you, T-Timothy?” Series of insecure stammers slammed the redhead’s tongue tip, while struggling to elaborate the vowels and syllables in spelling the British compatriot’s name silver-tonguedly, a thick layer of ebony darkness cloaking his charming facial features, scarcely softening them abruptly.

“N-Nothing, Josiah! It’s just my normal self.” Suddenly the Michiganian managed to muffle a dry, coldblooded cough with his solely free mammoth, weathered hand, maintaining an adequate proximity with his mouth, measured in the length of a handful of inches. The possessed doctor manipulated subtly the angel’s grasped cigar length to toss imprudently impulsive, consequently the butt of the cancer stick scorching malignantly his panted thigh and patching with a small gap the conveniently thick fabric, vaguely bruising his sensitive marbled skin and electrifying goosebumps granulating his overall epidermic costume. “Cheer up, angel! It was just a petty accident.”

The other times when the both doctors had their own interactions which weren’t that awkwardly close and playing out the battlefield of detections and hunting for wee details which were unspeakably noticed by the fewest most clever witnesses. Stoicism roughly grained the hallowed angel’s porcelain, still undeniably youthful complexion with the meager signs of a honed contour of age.

In spite of Timothy’s scheming mannerism in his fomentation to regulate his spirits even escalate them perpetually with his goofy punchlines of the jokes, anyway Josiah wasn’t gullibly dumb to give up his hopes and letting out his colleague to get away with anything exquisitely schemed and plotted out to play with Demogorgon and Lucifer playing their own cards right.

“An accident?” All of a sudden, the young gentleman manipulated his strong, meaty fingers to lift up the unfinished cancer stick, demonstrating emphatically the hint of the vile essence’s possession daredevil game. “What an accident, Timothy?” Wry, woeful sarcasm waltzed in a tandem of vowels and syllables, combating to construct the perplexingly apparent posed question, whilst the wight of Lucifer and Demogorgon attempted to stifle another mischievously fiendish giggle, itching his tongue shortly after collaring forcefully his lower cherub lip between his front ivory teeth, nibbling reccuringly the delicate skin of the raw spot. “I just saw your silhouette and those devil horns.”

“Have you completely lost your mind?”

“Not actually! I didn’t know a doctor with the devil into his body could be capable of such manipulations and sugarcoated exaggerations in every word and syllable which jingles into my ears.”

“The devil isn’t a liar!” Within another took pull at the nicotine line and expelling a crudely harsh pasty smoke, the former devotional holy man lifted up his rear from the outdoor chair and menacingly approached with short steps the other doctor, bending down to spear his glimmering medley of topaz and coffee brown embers, blazing sheer inflammatory and fierce vexation. “He tells the pretty fugly truths right into the face, dear! If you now excuse me, I’ve another work to do.” Instead of persistently escalating the heated debates and registering further rejoinders, the former ambitious member of the clergy stubbed the cigarette’s butt on the compact balcony’s ledge and throughout retreated back to indoors at last, dumping all alone the redhead burking in the nocturnal doldrum.

Within a few minutes after fleeing one of the hospital rooms and pacing up leisurely, monotonously in the abysmal corridor of the facility, one of the passing nurses informed Timothy to pay a visit to Jude’s hospital room, in fact, she received a visitor.

When the British compatriot’s cocksurely pristine, colossal hand lowered to grasp the doorknob, leading to his rare bird’s sufficiently expansive hospital room and pressing the doorknob, meantime, the haphazardness of the swung opened door at the sight of the former pious sister of the church being warmly, delicately comforted by nobody else than her former protégé startled the recently united trio and the surreptitiousness of Timothy stepping inside the room even shutting behind him the door caught off guard the both women as they shifted directly their attentions to the tall masculine figure.

** **Author's Note: What are your thoughts on Timothy as a main antagonist by being possessed and most of all, being involved in obscene acts? Do you like him as a devil's wight? ** **

** **Furthermore, I hope you liked and enjoyed the new chapter! :))** **


	14. The Visitor

\--- ***** **\---

"M-Monsignor," The sole syllables and vowels which awkwardly limped backward and forward onto the juvenile woman of the cloth's tongue was the former aspiring Monsignor's ecclesiastical title, stilling her registered in grasp the former devotional woman of the cloth's petite, palish hand and shifting their attentions to the possessed doctor shortly after slamming behind him the door of the hospital room.

"It's not Monsignor anymore, Sister!" In the meantime, the British compatriot ventured to approach and participate in the both women's company emphatically and his honeyed voice accenting his caution, offering primly sympathetic smile, tattooed on his porcelain, youthful complexion.

"T-Timothy," Suddenly the older lady's Boston lilt embarrassingly punctured her grunt, daring her smoky quartz jewels to the tall figure which maintained almost a few inches proximity with the female duo. An eerie flat line, a medley of emotionlessness, aloofness and dryness roughly grained her beautiful facial attributes, incessantly manipulating her eyelids to blink in tandem choir. The heart rate perkily rabid soared the thuds into her brittle ribcage and a medley of mild disappointment, sheer heartbreak and woeful felicity waltzing the heart pulsations.

On one hand...

Mild disappointment due to the sinister consequences of his infernal prayers, pitching Kit's small household two weeks ago like infernal ballad, abstractly chanted. She hasn't expected the love of her life would be capable of and most of all, bestowing her with such unspeakable retribution.

Sheer heartbreak, due to the circumstance that the former devotional man of the cloth would hurt and scarcely relent to Demogorgon's balefully blunt commands and exquisitely disguising themselves as profoundly diabolic inner voices, ghosting his vortex of thoughts.

On other hand, woeful felicity for her efficient attempt to bestow the former ambitious Monsignor with a second chance which was unavoidably inexorable, according to her unlike the sandstorm of disagreements that she would earn. It has been two weeks since the last time when they've encountered one another and most of all, confronting the vile essence that was recently spellbinding his frail skeleton.

"How ironic you aren't priest!" Even when the juvenile blonde opted to conjugate the stammer, bare overwhelmness immersed her muscles and thoughts, scarcely could sort her mind at snail's pace at least. Her elvish, creamily marbled hands were enigmatically trembling and the bright yellow bulb illuminating the hospital room, piercingly saturating their exposed fleshes and mops of hairs. "Did you categorically decide to leave the church for good?" The childlike inquisitiveness seethed the young lady to discover more of Timothy's different occupation at the moment which was peculiarly doubtful. Incredulity roughly contoured her youthfully beautiful, delicate facial attributes.

"I-It's a long story, Sister!" A stutter railed out of Timothy's mouth, seating on Jude's other side, faintly bobbing graciously polite his head while lingering his radiantly friendly smile, permeating across his naturally plum, cherub lips. His fidgety, pristinely strong fingers lingered delicately on his sheerly pristine oyster-white doctor appron, embroidering his toned, muscular chest, subsequently giving the gracious impression of his professionalism and current occupation in the general population's sanctum. Furthermore, the possessed doctor didn't have any intentions of leaking personal information even if it's modicum in front of the juvenile pious woman of the cloth, in fact, he scarcely believed she'd be passionately enthusiastic to be all ears and the sole thing as ocean of luxurious scenarios swirling her thoughts were the horror which the British compatriot has been through as dynamic roller coaster and what is his recent sinister incarnation of. He deeply loved Mary Eunice as his own daughter figure, due to his closeness he shared platonically with the former sleazy nightclub singer and their forbidden and unrequited love's sequence of their abstinence to open themselves more romantically, although they've been intimate. "How are you, ladies?"

"Due to my hectic daily schedule and being always busy, I decided to pay visit to Jude since I yearned to see her sooner than later." In the interim, the juvenile holy woman was idly, fatherly soft playing and fingerling her fidgety fingers a fistful of cheerfully obstinate aureate strands, framing exquisitely her full, round profile. A heavy sigh contracted then unloaded her frail chest, squinting up her azure blue cabochons at the former clergyman, vaguely beaming at him with her glowingly vibrant, amicable smile, parting upon her naturally roseate, heart-shaped lips. "It's so hectic in the orphanage that I work, honestly. But it's amazing to befriend and communicate with children." At the moment, twains of the both older adults' cabochons were fixated on the young woman, gnawing on the raw spot of her lower plumpish lip after thudding her front ivory teeth to graze the delicate skin of her lip.

The truth eventually was that Mary Eunice was very fond of children at the age range of newborns up to adolescents. Furthermore, the juvenile lady didn't have any intentions of fleeing the church and losing her own position as a mere nun in one of the Pennsylvania's orphanages.

Even though it has been a few months since Mary Eunice has been working in the Pennsylvania orphanage, her job was complacently satiating her and refilling her daily hectic schedule from the early morning up to the nocturnal daily episode nonetheless. The pious nun was somewhat insecure and indisputably self-conscious during the first weeks of her work in her new workplace until mindly, consciously and physically adopting to the atmosphere at last. Every new fresh start whether unwanted or wanted, it wasn't obviously child's play for anybody at all unless the enthusiasm, opulent ambition and muster were in charge of every individual's familiarity with the once foreign atmosphere, swaddling welcomingly every uninvited guest.

"Anyway we're fine with Sister Mary Eunice!" All of a sudden, the older blonde delivered the response whcih the British compatriot was eagerly anticipating with great deal of patience, welling in his fountain of his one of a kind character. Her pools of magnificently profound hazel glistened genuinely prim optimism, cusping with her misty bittersweetness. "And tell us more about that orphanage, h-honey!" The amorously amiable nickname for her former protege balmily warmed the juvenile blonde's brittle heart, thumping recurringly rabid in her ribcage. Notwithstanding the circumstances, the both former religious members of the church were eagerly enthusiastic to learn more about their daughter figure's miraculous present and how her dynamic young adulthood is still developing through its chaotic roller coaster.

"Well, there are many nuns in charge of that orphanage and it's not prominently popular at all," Her starkly rosy-coloured, chapped lips curved in the pause, seconds before manipulating her flexible throat muscles efficiently to swig the bubbly salty lump, seething her feminine Adam's apple. Twains of dark gemstones glinted with altruistic interest, mottling their natural eye-colours. "It's an institution that functions for a handful of decades and it's under the name Saint Marianne Rose!". Meantime, the older duo were gracefully all ears and passionately listening to the soundtrack of calmly, girlishly bashful voice, chanting in declaim her own ballad about the institution where her heart majorly roomed and sensed the altar of her naked, celestial passion even apocalyptic salvation from pondering profoundly, pettily in his own grim past with rich collection of somber memories. "It's a home to hundreds of unfortunately abandoned or just fated to have no their own families children."

"Go ahead!" Indicating a sign of bestowing the older adults the sequel of her new job in perkily quirking an eyebrow, they both seized in a pensive, attentive purse their own lips.

"And the children are not only very nice, but also they're so enthusiastic, energetic and pretty creative."

Despite it saddened the former sleazy nightclub singer that her former protégé didn't flee the church for better, she was candidly delighted for loving her new job and working with the children and spending hours communicating with them even sharing personal stories and shenanigans nonetheless.

Furthermore, what it profoundly elicited from the Bostonian was one of her most celestial dreams that might have been true, but yet it's just impossible for her due to her age and her carnally health condition at all. Having her own child, made of her own flesh and blood. Teaching and gracing it with the ethereally unconditional love of the world which it deserves the most after the sea of tribulations which the older blonde has been through the years and still hardly persevering the circumstances of being childless lady. Last but not least, what it vibrantly brightened her and brought her the murderously glimmering smile, wearing thousand patterns of mirth permeated across her naturally nude pink, cherub lips was having Kit, Grace even their unborn ray of sunshine living in his own mother's womb as her only and uniquely extraordinary family.

"That's amazing you've a strong love for those children, Mary Eunice!" The huskily deep voice of the British compatriot didn't vanish in the thin air, whilst highlighting his retaliation which was almost dying on his berry-coloured, wet tongue and ushering his both mammoth, lactesently creamy hands to claw the former sister of the church's cheeks, swaddled up amusingly warm into his palms. "I strongly believe that those children are pure geniuses and special."

"You're doubtlessly right, Timothy!" Despite Mary Eunice had limited opportunities how to address her father figure, stilling her white-knuckled elvish, youthfully fresh hand squeezing her former mentor's feebly elvish, pallid hand and a swan thumb kneading her brittle knuckles, her heart molted to spend each golden second which was pearly delightful for the orphan with her former mentors as if she was in seventh heaven into their consolingly reassuring presences, forming an outstanding duo and sanctuary of comfort, warmness and unblemished love. "It surprises me that there are some extremely smart children that can solve some solutions even better than high schoolers, you know!"

When the haphazard doldrum lethally, coldheartedly suffocated the hospital room and the sole background sound was droning was the low hums of the former ambitious Monsignor, lingering his thumbs tracing delicately his rare bird's well-defined cheekbones, gliding sleekly beneath the pads of his thumbs.

"I'm sorry," All of a sudden, the both ladies shifted their attentions to the former aspiring Monsignor whilst declaiming in a honeyed mumble his apology, ducking head and locking up eagerly the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's gaze in no time, the medley of his brass and smoky quartz gems landed on her porcelain, elderly young-looking complexion, admiring her ethereally beauty, although the flaws and the medley of bruises, wounds and scars are possibly, uncommonly spotlighting her flawless, authentic grace. "For what I did to you that night, Jude!" The genuine notion of pangs of conscience was prominently envenoming the British compatriot's shamefaced timbre.

"Don't be sorry, Timothy!" Even the female duo noticed the pangs of his conscience promptly and they deeply, cordially know even if a spiritual possession was contaminating him, he'd wryly regret for every harm and damage, tattooed freshly on his rare bird with its remarkably abstract oils, inking the tattoo's details even the pettiest in its memorable contour, contouring the curves and angles of the masterpiece. "It's not yar fault at all."

"I'm a monster!" Shaking his head stubbornly, opting to cleanse his bleakly somber inner voices was the toughest task for him at the moment when his regrets resurfaced criminally critically and fatally smothering him. "I'm responsible for hurting many people."

"You aren't a monster." In the interval, the juvenile sister of the church docilely snapped him out of his worries, stern graveness remarkably puncturing her stark seriousness in her caution even when he didn't dare to maintain a glance or at least an adequate eye contact with the young lady.

"Look what, Timothy! Despite the things you've done to those innocents, ya aren't a monster! Yar my Timothy." Crystalline tears rimmed his pools of abysmally photogenic chocolate brown, lingering on her pallidly optimistic, vibrant face that brightened his facial expression immediately with her soothingly benevolent smile, sketching upon her lusciously nude pink, plumpish lips. It tore his heart on thousand of glassy pieces and subsequently his patchy, flimsy heart leaped at his right hand's confession, managing to claw his colossal, veiny hands after releasing Mary Eunice's grapple momentarily. "I love you very much and I'm grateful you released me from that snakepit!" Idle, coldblooded heavy sigh flushed his nostrils, frequently blinking his teary orbs and quietly sniffling and sensing how weak and vulnerable Timothy is when a single confession especially emanating from the love of his life would be unnaturally emotional and heartwarming. "Never and ever call yarself a monster! Yar my hero even if the demons are chasing ya yet."


	15. Brass Clashes

\--- ***** **\---  
\--- _A Couple of Hours Later or So _\---

\--- _1st of March, 1965_ \---

The following night. Like every ordinary nocturnal daily episode, emulating to each commonly encountered day, indicated according to the annual calendar.

The following night, when the pious sister of the church and the possessed doctor were accompanying the Bostonian in her booked hospital room for recovery and promising cure and bestowed her a hope for recover from earlier, in spite of her stay inside the dully grandiose medical institution for straight two weeks from the glass wounds and ominous burns. The middle-aged lady's encouraging recovery vibrantly, balmily swaddled her along with her hopes after not only receiving daily visits by her only contemporary, nevertheless, promisingly doting family Kit and Grace, besides the daily harmonizing prayers recited in inward mumbles, but also the British compatriot and Mary Eunice's visits which compensated two weeks of partly accomplished felicity and unconditional comfort as if certain very fragments were missing from solving the ultimate puzzle.

The hospital's wall clock ticked distressingly unnerved, incessantly uneven in every room and the monumental building.

The wee hours of the early morning were embraced by the gruesomely thick cloak of ebony, cloaking everything outside and indicating the true time. Three o'clock in the morning was fatally apocalyptic and spooky or rather giving those apocalyptically spooky vibes to its still awake souls along with the others, vulnerable to the vile essences and monstrous dark silhouettes of supernatural creatures haunting the darkest corners of the room and their recent residence.

A couple of nurses and doctors were arduously in charge of the night shift they're taking. It wasn't a child's play at all especially in the former holy man's case to spend a couple of hours in rationally profound discussions, swelling in opulent of topics with Sister Mary Eunice out of Jude's patient room.

"Wouldn't you like a cigarette, sister?" In spite of Timothy's deep acknowledgment of the juvenile pious sister of the church's non-smoking character, anyway he didn't want to disappoint her without offering her once a cigarette at least.

The duo were recently seating on the balcony, linked to Jude's hospital room and it was already the third cigarette for the British compatriot for tonight and maintaining an adequate proximity with the juvenile blonde, measured truly in a few inches solely.

The late winter, frosty wind recklessly waltzed and stroked gingerly their exposed alabaster skins and stray strands, abstractly chromatic medley of aureate, chestnut and opulent saturating pigments, glittering their hairs.

"That's quite nice of you, Timothy!" After shaking meekly, humbly her slim forefinger in solemn disagreement, reaffirming her position's façade and flushing heavy sigh through her tiny, vulnerable nostrils, thereafter meekly inhaling the refreshingly breathtaking wintery fragrance, bristling her facial skin and folded legs whilst seizing firmly, roughly her conservatively wool, rigidly shapeless habit hem, squinting up her big, round lapis lazuli jewels at his kindheartedly handsome facial attributes, dimly cloaked in lit light, sourcing from the brightly illuminated hospital room. "But no, thank you! I don't smoke."

"It's okay, Sister! I'm not forcing you to smoke at all." When the British compatriot slammed shut the cigarette package's entrance and stealthily putting back in his doctor's professional apron socket, subsequently his other mammoth, veiny hand's fingers supported the weight of the lit cancer stick's infectiously thick silver foggy smoke, permeating the nearby site. A vaguely prim, friendly smirk unusually attractively adorned his facial attributes, darting his medley of brass and smoky quartz jewels to the young lady's guiltlessly childlike face, maintaining an adequate eye contact with her. "I know so far that you aren't a smoker anyway." Within taking his very second drag at his cancer stick, consequently his nostrils and cherub, naturally baby-pinkish lips curved in a soft O to debar thickly silver foggy dim, suffusing carelessly disoriented.

"Even if I'm not a smoker, I used to smoke once during my possession in old Jude's office." The revelation which the orphan recently made paradoxally tugged her flimsy heart in severe contraction, unable to properly functioning and reproducing the monotonously hasty thuds in her ribcage when her naturally roseate, attractively plump lips popped up explosively and her front ivory teeth managed to nibble the raw spot of her lower plump lip shyly, girlishly. The revelation was just sincere and personal. Far from professional. Far from harmful, howsoever, the solely trustworthy faces in her inner circle or at least acquaintances would be the only ones hearing the roar of Mary Eunice's sincerity behind her masked innocence and the doldrum of her docilely velvety voice, spotlighting every word, slipping from her nubile mouth.

"I didn't know you've smoked even once." All of a sudden, the prim shock, entirely mantling in pure, ebony darkness the possessed doctor's parchment, still youthful complexion whilst stilling to stabilize the smirk, spread across his lips and his only free hand clawing viciously, idly his elbow. Even though the crystal clarity and intelligence of the possessed doctor which he's infernally graced with, nevertheless, playing the role of lowbrow and scarcely possessing modicum of knowledge with his supernatural bless was sufficiently spooky and giving somehow apprehensive, dubious vibes to the young woman. "Haven't you smoked before that?"

"I've to admit once when I was on a swimming pool party when I was only seventeen years old and the majority of the guests were popular kids from school." Bobbing excitedly his head in solemn agreement, subsequently bestowed myriad of encouragement to the orphan to drop the sequel of her revelation of her grim, desolated past with recollection of disturbing memories, burdening every ounce of her until it wasn't lifted off persistently. "One of the popular kids asked me if I have ever smoked in my life and I confessed to her I have never." Flattening his mouth in a politely thoughtful, attentive purse, consequently the former aspiring Monsignor curved arches of his thick, masculinely dark eyebrows.

"Mhm!" Lowly droning quietly, melodiously tune, solely discernible for himself, Timothy took another drag at the cigar length efficiently, greedily.

"Then she offered me tobacco though I told her it is repulsively reeking and it may taste disgusting." Her white-knuckled, roughly calloused hands maliciously grappled the rigidly shapeless wool hem, lingering her pristinely spidery fingers on the rigid wool fabric. The painfully soar flavour of the word and the reeking cancer stick laced ominously unholy her strawberry-coloured, wet tongue. Pinkness playfully tickled her well-carved, naturally, healthily chubby cheeks with mischievous, healthily normal blush. "Then she was like I shouldn't be worried at all and it's cool as she lit a cigarette only for me," Sorely fresh, lukewarmly unnerving lump seethed her finely feminine Adam's apple, hesitantly ushering her throat muscles to gulp abruptly, lifting off the ounce from her muscles which once bloodthirstily, gut-wrenchingly encumbered her frail skeleton.

The greatly blended medley of blush, series of modestly honeyed, insecure stutters zinging her lusciously plumpish lips, humdrum uneven pauses stunning her and suffocating with uneven quietness the duo's atmosphere ideally, unsacredly granted hints to Timothy how genuinely embarrassed was Mary Eunice before joining the church and most of all, fortunately, not tempting herself to obtain daily in humdrum bad habits which the majority of her peers were woefully fated and apocalyptically dropping in the pile of their infernal temptations and once childish curiosity.

"Well, once I took a puff at the cancer stick, I wasn't nicely impressed at all."

"Then how did those popular riots reacted?" Although the myriad of compassion, spotlighting exquisitely the older man's enquiry, he wasn't very fond of the famous children in the educative institutions as his crystally obvious experience with such problematic children were obnoxiously spellbinding him with dreadful memories from his earlier years along with his siblings.

"The girl that hosted and offered me a cigar was clearly disappointed and questioned me why I didn't like it like everybody else."

"Oh, those children! It's sickening me what kind of sadistic little monsters they could be." Heavily arduous sigh elaborated at the top of his fragile lungs, lingering his pristinely masculine, strong fingers cheaply around the cigar length, admiring the nicotine diminishing his hunger and unnatural nerves, boiling and cooking inside him and foreshadowing the sequence of incessantly boiling blood with its adrenaline criminal pulsation into his veins. "To such good kiddos like you, Mary Eunice!"

"No wonder why they plotted their nemesis with taking off our bathing robes," The haphazardness in her series of stammers and sweltering heat boiling her well-sculptured, chubby cheeks stilled the unhealthily sanguine blush, generously stroking her facial skin registered Timothy's gruffily cleared throat with a dry, cold-blooded cough.

"Hold on a second, Sister!" Fixing his professionally medical apron's collar with true deftness in his only free hand's fingers, throughout the woman of the cloth's breathing hitched momentarily and her spidery palish fingers commenced trembling in choir, dancing yet around the rigidly curve of her hem's grasp. "If you don't genuinely feel comfortable with sharing that, I'm not forcing you at all." Curtly cutting off the woman of the cloth rendered her tongue conjugating diabolically relentless, frequent irrational babbles and cooes.

"I'm totally okay with that, Timothy!"

"It's pretty pointless to continue telling me, if you don't feel comfortable at all, Mary Eunice!" An uneasy pause suffocated their numbing doldrum, settling conveniently on the balcony, in the meanwhile, the wintery chilliness swaddled and fondled them delicately, daintily their seating postured figures. *Just stop up to now! I know how embarrassed are you. I know how terrified you are telling this experience to somebody even if it's dearly trusted," At the moment, within another took drag at the cigar length and puffing after parting in a soft O his mouth the heavy foggy dim strong-willedly expanded, flaring his flexibly wee nostrils at the acutely sinful, venomous tobacco scent which invisibly polluted and penetrated perpetually his attires and his overall figure from head to toes. "Or at least this person can be trusted and it's a worth to listen to your song." What it perpetually invincibly startled the young lady was how deeper, raspier was rusting the older gentleman's timbre, prominently accentuating Demogorgon's potent influence and commands instantly registering their manipulations, stretching every tissue of his like voodoo doll, targeted maliciously.

Within a few minutes later, throughout the former member of the clergy, accompanied by the religious nun entered back in the former sleazy nightclub singer's patient room with the brilliantly shimmering hope of beholding her again either drifted off asleep and dwelled out of the reality’s sane realm to ponder abysmally her misty reverie’s realm or otherwise brass insomnia’s disguise dolling her up.

"And I was thinking," As soon as the older gentleman gently, politely held the balcony's door, linked with the patient room and stepping aside, in order to give Sister Mary Eunice more enormous space to step inside the sufficiently expansive room, the empty hospital bed was eerily austerely embracing the platonic pairing's twains of inquiring eyes, landing categorically perplexed on the emptiness. All of a sudden, the double beamingly charming smiles, extraordinarily tattooed on their parchment, young-looking complexions ebbed out and blurred each pattern of mirth, dumping their once saturated facial attributes in artistically sunny contour. "What's going on?" The duo swapped morbidly skeptical glances just shortly after venturing inside the desolated in unpromising loneliness with lethally early morning hush, settling conveniently in the very outskirts of the room, whilst the juvenile blonde’s series of mastered stammers railed out of her tongue in no time, widening momentarily their huge, round embers, flaming stark bleak skepticism.

"I don't even have any idea, but I'm sure Jude must be gone to the loo." Even though Timothy’s sole speculation was that his rare bird was gone for a few minutes to the toilet to clean herself like every patient whose needs were fiercely erupting and far cry from sluggish to manifest any kind of physical purity, thus the nun whirled boldly once Judy’s hospital bed with its dumped lazily unwrapped duvet and dully, blatantly scrunched bed sheets, embellishing the mattress and pillow. “Or only one God knows.”

“But also the bathroom is strangely unused at the moment.”

“Holy!” An unholy murmur was crafted with hitched breathing and raced heart when the British compatriot acknowledged that his right hand wasn’t residing her exact patient room inside the grandiose medical building, thereafter ushering his both hands’ virginally diabolic, creamily smooth fingers massaging gently his temple, opting to retrieve a murderous sanity and control over his nerves just shortly before the adrenaline’s ferocious impulse urged him to be a participant into an unspeakably villainous deed. “That’s impossible.”

“I really don’t know how it’s possible even for her to escape just like that.” Meanwhile, the both adults were far from potent after the discouraging disappearance of the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer blanched their healthily palish skin tone of their complexions and the eerie echo of their docilely humble footsteps ghosting the carpeted flooring was the only productively bubbling sound, amalgamating with their featherly soft breathings as background noises.

The homesickness of the once occupied with her own authentically remarkable presence the Bostonian was nothing than just a straying ghost ghosting with its memorable petite-frame the crinkled bed sheets and lazily unwrapped duvet glinted starkly hideous melancholy into the possessed doctor and the recent visitor’s cabochons, still questioning who would be responsible for the former pious woman of the cloth’s disappearance.

\--- ***** **\---

The senseless condition, swaddling lukewarmly, conveniently the former pious holy woman's frail skeleton nonetheless, was conveyed emphatically surreptitious by the angelic humanoid form of Josiah Chance up to his office.

Perhaps it’s been awhile since the Bostonian has drifted off asleep profoundly, promisingly until Josiah surreptitiously yanked by scooping her petite-frame into his foreign secure, nevertheless, comfy embrace and stilling his transportation to his office out of his co-worker’s sight and detrimental presence which may illuminate every sinister harm, sketched austerely on the blonde.

Almost four o’clock in the morning. The nervously quiet ticking of the wall clock in Josiah Chance’s office after wrapping and swaddling warmly, conveniently the older woman and locking up his office’s door, in order to allow unwelcomed visitors into his space unless his consent was brightly screaming.

The majority of the general population was either kipping leisurely or on the contrary a certain scale of them was getting ready for the day from earlier.

In the interval, whilst the weightless frail skeleton of Judy was peacefully, cozily terminating the emptiness of the double mattress of the patient bed and a sheerly oyster-white blanket generously, altruistically blanketed the weight, at the moment the angel jotting down a couple of prominent notes down in his note pad, in case to keep notes for his impending night shift even though his shift was approaching its apogee within a handful of hours solely to get back at home, collect sufficient rest and sort his day somehow with its hectic daily schedule. The fountain pen grasped in its gingerly dancing fingers supporting the weightless pen and manipulating with each motion its oily tip inking anything on the sheet of paper, lowly humming himself, solely discernible for him, due to the fact the doctor wasn’t all alone at all.

Although Josiah wasn’t genuinely trusting or at least didn’t have any intentions of granting modicum of his trust to any other colleague even Timothy to look after Jude until her condition’s utter improvement, he decided riskily to extend his shift until it peaks approximately eight o’clock in the morning and phone Kit and Grace to pick up their solely trusted family member or at least relative they’d for now.

Josiah as a humanoid form of an immortal angel was extraordinarily acknowledged about the spiritually possessed by vile essence preys and their masters’ spine-chilling intentions of harming or at least leave a criminally irreparable, unavoidable track of the ventured damage, tattooed on their preys. He couldn’t even bestow with modicum of his divinely unique trust to anybody who was not only filthily corrupted by the vile essence’s population, furthermore granting the former ambitious Monsignor anything which Demogorgon commanded him to obtain momentarily or at least sooner than later.

“W-Where am I?” Once the older lady came to her senses at last and stirring whilst stretching her leanly alabaster arms into the thin air, subsequently her groggy eyelids wrenched opened and kneading them with the fashioned in balled fists brittle hands, cleansing gradually her unevenly foggy vision, reciting in a reluctant mutter the posed question as the younger gentleman was truly caught off guard. But for the younger gentleman’s luck, his fingers stilled their authentic dance around the fountain pen, whereas his figure was seating on his hardwood bureau and scarcely mopping off his benevolently shining smile, glimmering past his handsome facial features. “Who the hell are ya?”

“Don’t be scared from me, Jude!” Pure honey and nonchalance roughly, outstandingly touched the Michiganian’s angelic caution, shifting his attention directly to the older lady, dumping the pen on his bureau and lifting up his rear from his seat. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Just tell me who you’re!” The former pious sister of the church’s vouch was potently, stubbornly begging for the angelic doctor’s retaliating position, surging the intensity of her megawatt sharpness in her Boston lilt, fashioning in furious balled fists, whereas her white-knuckled balled fists hands were headstrongly grappling the duvet, flicking up her pools of deep hazel into the tall, masculine figure, ghosting with his own promisingly comforting, foreign presence nonetheless. “I promise nothing detrimental is going to happen.”

“I’m Dr. Josiah Chance Crawford, Judy! You’re on much safer place.” As soon as Josiah was ambling up to the hospital bed, in order to join soothingly the patient’s company, his introduction was sufficiently auspicious for the blonde, managing her throat muscles begrudgingly to swig the bittersweet lump, vigorously bulging up her neck. “I promise everything is okay and I’m going to extend my shift, in order to wait until eight o’clock in the morning to inform your relatives about your release.”

“W-What release?”

“You’re fully recovered, Judy! You’re as healthy as an ox and you’re on your feet finally which is beatifically relieving me.”

“It’s blowmindingly unbeliev-“

“Trust me, I won’t allow you to be under the supervision of that vain Dr. Howard!” When the foreign consoling sensation of snatching the middle-aged woman’s petite, quivering hand into his larger, creamily soft, consequently the duo exchanged painfully piercing gazes, speaking galore of emotions and sentiments which were absolutely platonic. No romantic intentions. No malicious intentions. No detrimental intentions. Everything just seemed smoothly promising and welcoming.

“Ya don’t even know him, Doctor! He is an old friend of mine and he has got that-“ As it was high time for the Bostonian to elaborate sluggishly the vowels and syllables, lurching awkwardly on her wet, berry-coloured tongue and perpetually conjugating them into an utterance which was curtly cut off by the Michiganian, grasping even tighter the reassuring grip.

“Demon inside him! I know him better than I do myself, Judy! Trust me it’s not worth leaving you under his supervision and anything strangely harmful to happen to you until your relatives are here to retrieve you back at home.”

What it severely hurt and agonized during their heated debate about the British compatriot was the somber contrast they shared in their worldviews Judy and Josiah. Ironically, Josiah attempted to persuade emboldeningly the patient to join temporarily his side and most of all, grant modicum of her celestial trust to him even though the angel has never took care of the patient even once at least. Notwithstanding the relentlessly realistic circumstances, sooner or later the brilliantly crystal clarity of Timothy is going to be after his recently targeted preys which were stealthily ugly connoting their conspiracy. An unimaginable jealous would well in the very being of the former holy priest as soon as he acknowledged Judy’s interactions with other males than him behind his back.

“Timothy isn’t a bad person, Doctor Crawford! He is really a benevolent person with golden and big heart even though now he’s combating persistently with the demon and his dark corruption.”

“Look what, Judy! As soon as I arrange your release from the hospital, go immediately and contact any priest or member of the clergy nearby in Boston and try your best to protect yourself if he’s going to hurt you. It will be a great case of arranged exorcism.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dr. Crawford! I’m going to kick the bucket once he acknowledges who’s the one that stands between the exorcism and the interaction with other priests and nuns.”

“I don’t want even to argue with you, but it doesn’t make the things easier if you are keeping yourself quiet and you’re tolerating that abuse towards you.” The haphazardness curving motions in the pensive purse of the Bostonian’s naturally nude pink, plumpish lips quivered disquietly, whereas uncurling the duvet from her grip and folding dramatically, coldheartedly her arms across her flimsy chest, attentively listening to the doctor’s advice. “Exorcism is the only alternative for his soul’s salvation. Just imagine this man with the devil inside him hurting at least fifteen people or killing you if the exorcism doesn’t even happen at all.”

The unthinkable alternative which was the lastly remaining and unnervingly clicking in her vortex of thoughts aroused tempest of stormy prejudices how the conjuration of the demon from the vulnerable identity of Timothy would advance and would it lead to his ultimate spiritual salvation or on the contrary, it would destine him with its apocalyptic demise.

“I don’t know!” All of a sudden, the former licentious jazz nightclub singer’s facial expression broke into an unspeakably sore sob, nude sanguine blush creeping beneath her facial skin and electrifyingly heating her flesh as crystalline, translucent tears pronged her pitch-black, gorgeously long eyelashes, dimming dew of moisture. “I just can’t trust any exorcism would be as successful as it may be. It leaded to many death cases instead of salvations.” It was far from an authentic victory or at least depicting the explicitly graphic images of a mere conjuration of a possessed former clergyman that was struggling with his fiendish demons.

“At least, his soul would be on better place! Much better place than torturing and regretting deeply whatever woe slipped from his foul hands that were entirely corrupted by the devil!”

“But do ya know what, doctor?” In the meantime, Judy drew instantly Josiah’s attention promptly with the husky sharpness, puncturing her brutal seriousness in her rhetorically posed question as a begrudging arch of his eyebrow indicated his incredulity in the wee hints of the blonde’s intentions of saving Timothy’s soul via seeking a member of the church’s council and arranging anytime the dispossession of the vile essence. “My quietness is under no circumstances to keep him as diabolically harmful as he’s right now. I’ll try to help him as much as I can just to banish that malicious demon out of his body and see again the same old Timothy I knew before.” At the moment, the younger man draped his strongly, muscular arms to scoop in a firmly kindhearted embrace the former nun, resting his forehead on top of her head whilst registering one of his hands to smoothly, soothingly knead her bony upper back to encourage her scintillating comfort and unconditional platonic warmness as her tears drenched his professionally medical apron with her own salty, translucent tears, sobbing inwardly deferential in the crook of his arm, finding her own flimsy heart torn off on trillions of glassy pieces, waltzing into her void ribcage. “But I’m afraid he will die just like the other victims of exorcism that haven’t made it up to the last prayers.”

“Shh, shh, shh, everything is going to be alright! I strongly promise you Dr. Howard will be on his feet after the conjuration and your deadly concerns will cease from existence.”

In spite of the headstrong comforting words of the angelic doctor and trying his best to soothe his patient, nevertheless, the impossibility of ceasing her bittersweetly sticky tears and uncontrollably melancholic, grotesque sniffles, pitching the early morning’s atmosphere inside Josiah’s welcoming, glowing office.

**Author's Note: Do not kill me for the sloppy dialogues between the characters, nevertheless, I opt to amalgamate the emotional and verbal atmosphere as much as possible. Furthermore, within 5 chapters solely we will get to know the epilogue or rather the prologue of the pre-Purgatory book! I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter! :))**


	16. Holy and Unholy Games

\--- ***** **\---  
\--- _The Following Morning _\---  
\--- _1st of March, 1965 _\---

Within the elapsing hours perkily smoothing through the wee hours of the morning at flipping book pages' pace, Josiah informed Kit and Grace for their relative's arranged release from the hospital at last.

The following morning Sister Mary Eunice went early to the airport to not miss her flight for Pennsylvania, in order to catch up with her work, immensely and eagerly anticipating for her elvish, bare hands to register their strong-willed craft and mastery.

Even though it was the last time beholding the last night the British compatriot, anyway Judy was wisely informed about his vile essence's ominous intentions and keeping herself safe as much as possible by seeking either a nun or a priest's help to arrange the exact day of the British compatriot's conjuration. Judy deeply knew she wasn't all alone in her apocalyptically infernal, challenging clash with Demogorgon's recent prey of ominously unholy spiritual possession.

Furthermore, supernaturally violent elation contaminated the former devotional woman of the cloth and the creased sentiment of sheer elation encouraged her high spirits to glimmer thousand patterns of mirth, beautifully, invitingly decorating her facial attributes and the thick veil of mirth vibrantly, scintillatingly illuminating beneath the vibrant spotlights of the absolute reality, cusping with her celestial reverie, gearing persistently.

It has been almost a day since the former licentious jazz nightclub singer has beheld Kit and Grace even imbibing with her pools of profoundly expressive hazel their frequently optimistic, beatific smiles, glittering abstractly past her vision and hazily fogging every pattern of hideous despondency. Jude would love to be back at her only home, where for a couple of weeks mustering up with the scintillatingly beatific atmosphere suffocating the small, nevertheless, cozily convenient household. Jude would love to see their welcomingly sunny smiles, cracking their facial expressions abruptly. Jude would love to desolate the medical institution's corners with its rich reek of heavy medicaments, acute illnesses, eventual demises and the frequency of human perspiration and footsteps greasing the dusty tiled flooring with its ghosting pace hovering up the surface aloofly.

As soon as the blonde's arranged release was efficiently depicted with altering her appearance from the sombrely contrast of her low-spirited, foully melancholic physique of the mere, indifferently achromatic hospital patient into the mere, beamingly breathtaking mere woman, participating in the general population with brushing her hair, smartly, nicely dolling her up outstanding physique and sheer glossiness glimmering from head to toes as recently blossoming palish tiny star, cheerfully resuscitating in the nocturnal sky.

In the interim, the juvenile couple eagerly anticipated for the former holy woman to flee the grandiose hospital's façade, climbing up past their visions which lively supervised the ocean of strangers, identified either as nurses and doctors or otherwise patients fleeing or entering the façade's eerie walls like gates of hell, determining their lives' destiny between the presentable life and the ferociously bloodthirsty grim of the death.

In order to presentably surprise the sole true family addition was leaving their home slightly earlier and searching the flower store for a desirably magnificent bouquet of flowers which were actually gardenias, the gasman's one of his mammoth, satin hands was fastening with its benevolently dancing spidery masculine, strong fingers the gardenias' bouquet with its almighty alluring fragrance of life and nature's authenticity.

“Hey look, Kit! I see Judy!” Nudging her boyfriend’s elbow to taunt him, they speared their gazes at the petite-frame of the former nun which was headstrongly, vigorously marching up to them after cascading in drums the massive of the medical institution, whilst confidently camouflaging every kind of concern and despondence behind their beaming, sunny smiles, curving upon their cherub, nude pink lips. The strong sentiment of leaped hearts with its unevenly passionate drums into their flimsy ribcage and electrifying goosebumps pricking their vulnerable epidermis as if they were in seventh heaven was the purest expression of vehement merriness.

“She’s radiant as always.” Lowering the decibels of his honeyed utterance, transmuting it into a sweet mumble pierced the French girl’s ear with its delicate coffee-stained breath of his boyfriend without averting their magnified stares from the former devotional nun.

“Hi, sweethearts! I’m so happy to see ya again.” In the interval, when the trio’s reunion was fully accomplished, subsequently the older woman spread broadly, perkily her satin, leanly alabaster arms into the thin air to scoop into a kindheartedly tight, mirthful embrace the younger adults. The amorous friendly nicknames, sailing out of her berry-coloured, wet tongue jingled angelic hymns into Grace and Kit’s sensitive ears and affirming the embrace fluently with securing the Bostonian’s upper back, molting into the mutual warmness their intimacy stretched its feeble elasticity.

“We also do, Judy! We dearly missed you so much. You don’t have any idea what torture is waiting for your full recovery.”

“Are these for me?” All of a sudden, when their hug retired emphatically, throughout the young man registered politely, gentlemanly to hand to the Bostonian the graciously breathtaking bouquet of gardenias of one of favorite flowers for Jude, in order to inexorably brighten her day and her leave from the hospital after her two-week stay at least. Moreover, her big, round caramel brown cabochons wrenched widened in pure ecstasy and awe-inspiration on the gracious bouquet and sympathetically accepting it scooped into her silky arms, whereas a wonderfully beaming grin, parting her lips in a soft O with its baring ivory, megawatt teeth perched on her porcelain, elderly youthful complexion. “They’re gorgeous.” The abrupt, violent heart thuds in her ribcage collided with the frail fabric of the bouquet with its medley of maroon, magenta, navy blue, sunny yellow and lime green flowers, exquisitely ornate to refill the void of its present, snapping shut her eyelids for a split second and her delicate button nose nuzzling the featherly soft, elegant petals of the gardenias, gently, childishly tickling her skin and managing to inhale the stunningly succumbing fragrance of nature and life, greatly blending its incarnation of satisfaction or resuscitation at least.

“Not as gorgeous as you’re, honey!” The French girl’s cheerful tongue elaborated the chaotic mess of vowels and syllables into a heartwarming compliment, cordially saturating the veil of shadows and obscuring its darkness with stark sun light, showering her from head to toes.

“I’m not really, Grace. Yar a young and beautiful lady unlike me.” The haphazardness of slitting widely opened her caramel brown cabochons, flaming her incredulity with its rough contour of her elderly attractive facial attributes while managing to tilt her head to lock up her stare with the pairing’s. “Just forget about me!”

“Well, you age like wine, Jude! It’s undeniably inescapable.” As soon as the both women’s discussion transmuted into a stubborn heated debate with its sweltering heat warming the pit of the blonde’s stomach, the gasman’s interference was inevitable phenomenon, circulating radially dynamic, attempting to persuade the former licentious nightclub singer to accept the sympathetic compliments even if her denial was far cry from false. “Every woman, no matter how old is she is gorgeous and unique in her own way.”

“How ironic is calling somebody gorgeous who could be yar mother, Mr. Walker!” The naked, fugly side of the former woman of the cloth’s sarcasm, prominently envenoming her exclaimation couldn’t suppress the swarm of vibrant, radiant snickers dripping from their mouths in no time as they retired from the monumental medical building without an ado, in order to distance themselves from the low-spirited, lethal atmosphere.

“I truly mean it and no matter if it was my mother or anybody who would be my parent, I’d still compliment them.” When the swarm of snickers ceased to pitch the background noise of medley of chattering strangers, car engines’ drones and the vibrantly eloquent, tuneful birdsongs, composing the urban ballad of the common life, the trio perpetually were retiring from the medical facility’s territory as their diligently docile, frequent footsteps ghosted the ground.

“No shit, sweetie!” The hoarseness in the young lady’s half-hearted, unpredictable snicker clicked the roof of her mouth as her lusciously plumpish, nude pink lips pursued for the gasman’s and subsequently jointing them with sealing sultry, brief kiss to resiliently share their formal love in front of the remaining general population, roaming the streets. “Let’s go celebrate this special occasion with a picnic on the highlands after we leave the bouquet of gardenias at home!” The oblivion vehemently veiled the large frame of the young gentleman as their impending destination was retiring to their small household and jubilantly organize their picnic somewhere in the highlands’ site to relish the photogenic aesthetics of the late winter. “Kit, darling!”

“Huh, yes?” Due to the absent-mindedness, fogging his hurricane of thoughts, Kit was snapped back to the reality and shifting his attention directly to his girlfriend, sensing the creamy, delicate sensation of her naturally roseate, plumpish lips seductively, fiendishly brushing his earlobe to draw his attention more efficiently, swiftly. “I’m sorry if I’m quite idle.”

“It’s fine. We can celebrate Judy’s release from the hospital after we leave her bouquet of gardenias at home and organize a picnic in the highlands.” A heavy sigh freshly unloaded her fragile lungs and refreshingly inhaling the urban scent, greatly blending with the bouquet of gardenias’ angelically amorous fragrance, tickling mischievously their tiny, flexible nostrils. “What do you think about this idea, Kit?”

“It’s amazing. I’m truly looking forward for that picnic.”

\--- ******* \---

\--- _Later that Day_ \---

Within several hours, pacing at the flipping books pages’ pace and violently bristling from daylight up to night time as the former pious holy woman spent the rest of her day in the company of the juvenile couple with the well-organized picnic and having dinner and subsequently taking a shower and hopping up into their own beds, Jude’s stealthy plotted the idea of fleeing the small household and find a nigh church to seek either a priest or a nun’s council for arranging the exorcism of Timothy shortly after Kit and Grace drifted off deeply asleep.

Orientating strong-willedly in the bleakly dark outskirts up to the local Boston church in the small city of Massachusetts aided the blonde’s nomad-alike roaming to seek the last celestial hope to save the love of her life from the dark, fiendish corruption.

The hallowed flickering lights that radiantly, buoyantly illuminated God’s house in front of her pools of abysmally abstract, brutally honest hazel resuscitated instantly the celestial hopes of seeking holy aid which wouldn’t cost her more than a few minutes.

Even though mild pangs of the conscience contaminated her cells and ounce with her stealthy decision which was plotted solely by her and scarcely sharing with Kit and Grace her intentions of Timothy’s conjuration and distancing her very presence from her only home at the moment, she wouldn’t give up with an ease at all. It was her essential quest to grant the vile essence’s retribution or at least escorting a devotional member of the church and witnessing the demon’s demise inside the British compatriot’s frail skeleton.

Judy didn’t have any intentions of dumping the love of her life completely helpless, hopeless and despondent like a rag doll, dumped recklessly inside the remnants of once functioned facility’s building with its dilapidating, bleak barren barriers that secured its façade. Judy genuinely cared about and painfully loved with her entire heart Timothy.

It would profoundly prong her fatalistically if the altruistic sacrifice wasn’t worth her life or at least her efforts at all. It would cost her years to persevere the demise or the nemesis of the former priest or at least galore of barren, wry antidepressants and heavy medicines to numb her own melancholy for awhile until it still cages inside her. Under no circumstances, the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer would forsake the love of her life severely succumbing and submerging in its own envenoming demise and diabolical agony. She would abysmally regret for the rest of her days the grotesque vista of Timothy’s nemesis and even meagerly implying modicum of efforts to prevent the hazards from suffocating him to bones.

The meekly deplorable, wry footsteps of Jude ghosted the light-heavy, rich carpet of snow and leaving tracks of her very presence once ghosting its path for a split second. The dancing grandiose, twice her petite-frame silhouette incessantly bounced and waltzed the manipulated physique of hers, darkening even eerier the benevolently snowy carpet.

As soon as brittle gloved-hand manifested to push the monumentally cherry wood lacquered church’s double door, the ill-famed, hideous squeak pitched the venomously doldrum the church’s interior and tingling alarming tones into the senior clergyman who was kneeling beside the altar, reciting in a mumble his own hallowed, dearly midnight prayer.

“F-Father bless ya!” The series of stammers were urgently crafted by the former holy woman’s mouth after arduous construction, situated on her tongue tip, while managing to approach and diminish the distance which she shared with Father Malachi who straightened his posture and encountering categorically the recent and sole chapel’s visitor. A hesitantly vague, kindhearted smile was tattooed on his heavy-wrinkled, parchment complexion.

“What may I help you with, my child?” The huskiness in the older gentleman’s velvety tone didn’t vanish in his enquiry, begging for her immediate response. The uneven, passionate heart drums hammered into her chest and panting heavily with her hitched breathing, plummeting down gradually the proximity which she and Father Malachi swapped altogether inside the chapel, earning God’s skeptically sly gawks, transfixed on them divinely and vertically. An eerie flat line sketched upon the former sleazy nightclub singer’s naturally nude pink, deliciously plump lips, indicating her neutrality and passiveness at the moment.

“It’s not about me, but it’s about an old friend of mine.”

“Tell me what troubles you about your old friend, my child!” As soon as the older gentleman maneuvered to interact to one of the exquisitely lacquered pews, consequently a kind, faint dab of his flattened surface of his palm invitingly, kindly urged the younger lady to join him and seat alongside each other.

A dramatically cold-blooded, categorical doldrum settled and suffocated the holy façade for awhile which was troubling and villainously challenging for the middle-aged lady to sort her mind, in order to adequately forge her thoughts in a proper construction of vowels and syllables to formulate a rational utterance in the impending progressing time. Moreover, her smoky quartz jewels blazed starkly fiery anxiety and concerns, immersing her indiscernible jet-black pupils with its reflected medley of emotions, exposing their true colours dynamically.

In spite of it’s been a several weeks since the last time when Father Malachi and Jude have confronted one another’s presences, nevertheless he was the last promising hope of Timothy’s vile essence salvation.

“Ya won’t believe me, but he’s actually possessed by the devil and it’s not promisingly safe at all.” Even though if their platonically intimate proximity was measured in a scarce inch, nevertheless, the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s petite, healthily frail gloved hands fashioned into furiously balled fists, snatching unnaturally rough, emphatically the knitted grasp of her hands in tandem while securely perched on her lap and crossing her anxiously bouncing in tandem leg.

“Is it possible after Mary Eunice’s exorcism the devil to get inside his body?” Meantime, the promisingly warm strawberry-coloured tongue of the man of the cloth ushered to greedily, gamely lick his dryly chapped upper and lower lip, reconsidering the former pious woman of the cloth’s revelation.

“He didn’t demonstrate odds in his behavior after her exorcism and abolishment in Pennsylvania.”

“Then when everything started?”

“Once listening to the radio news along with my friends Kit and Grace as my only family as we acknowledged Timothy’s escape from Briarcliff surprised me but on the following night he arrived in the small house and a handful of minutes later he used supernatural power such as telekinesis and pyrokinesis on me.” Assimilating whatever sloppily bled her bloodthirstily truthful lips, meaningful windows to the truth were perpetually interrupted with brief pauses due to her sharp exhales and then inhales, balefully puffing her huge, round hazelish-brown embers with rubicund pigment and crystalline, translucent tears generously, antanogizingly gouged her lower eyelids. The eerie flat line haphazardly flattened into a grotesquely unwelcoming, austere frown, unspeakably unforgiving permeating across her mouth. “His diabolical prayers, worshipping Satan and the unholiness were pitching the silence. Furthermore, via his supernatural power, he locked Kit and Grace until he didn’t finish with his daredevil game. I was hospitalized for two weeks and he once was supervising me as a doctor in the company of Sister Mary Eunice who was a visitor.”

“Urm, that’s obnoxiously strange, Judy!” The suddenness of the older man’s colossal, elderly veiny hand yanking amusingly the younger woman’s hand into his to secure its grapple consolingly, his intuition honed up to inhale the smell of her naked, ugly melancholy, welling in her timid timbre. “The only solution of this problem can be granted with an exorcism of Timothy. That’s all what I can recommend, but hopefully it saves his graciously golden, big heart from its devil’s vicious claws.”

“You’ve to exorcise him before it’s too late. Or at least, if anybody dares to see into the face of evil like police, passenger or whoever it could be,” Once the blonde’s facial expression quaked into a barren, uncontrollable sob pitching the background, she ducked timidly, girlishly her head, whereas slamming her front ivory teeth to gnaw the raw spot of her lower plumpish lip to stifle the series of imminent sobs and blatant whimpers. “To stop him right away and bring him for the conjuration.”

“I’ll do my best to save him from the devil’s vicious claws and everybody will be safe forever and ever.”

“I’m afraid that’s a false hope and he will continue hurting the others.”

“He won’t!” Electrifyingly enticing massage of the senior clergyman’s thumbs, grazing her brittle knuckles were reassuringly comforting with its ghosting touch, amicably bestowing her with sacred peace and warmness as the heavy rain of sticky, crystalline tears showered her well-sculptured, chubby cheeks, tinged with childlike, naïvely unhealthy blush.


	17. Getting Away With Murder

\--- ***** **\---  
\--- _A Quarter an Hour or So _\---

Within the progressing nocturnal episode at snail's pace, the former devotional woman of the cloth delightfully accepted Father Malachi's offer to stay in the church to be hydrated and well feed if her needs were far cry from sated. Even though the younger lady wasn't peckish at all, nevertheless, the munificent offer of a glass of water couldn't be objected from Jude.

The starkly satisfying and hedonistic hydration of her organs and body in general.

"Are you sure you want to leave on your own, Jude?" The welcoming, warmly soothing northern lilt of the revered clergyman tingled angelic anthems into the blonde's petite, sensitive ears as their gazes speared one another and honing up its sharpness abruptly. Even though Father Malachi didn't have any intentions of persuading Jude to flee the chapel, nevertheless, her headstrong, categorical decision to leave on her own was quite controversial as well. Even if he wasn't very fond of the Bostonian, he didn't wish her the worst at all. His sacred benevolence thickly, marvelously bled and coursed through his veins and velvety voice, radiantly, scintillatingly glimmering like Christmas tree's decoration. "I'm afraid something leery may happen to-" The series of dancing steamers, scarcely predictable to be formulated, although Father Malachi's well-schoolared nature, were sailing out of his wet, strawberry-coloured tongue until Judy cut him off curtly, nonchalance registered in her reassuringly optimistic gesture with a hand, waving past his vision, whilst seating on the exquisitely polished chairs inside the senior clergyman's dorm.

The hitching breaths, choiring monotonously frequent slumbered inside the dorm of the chapel as the dimly golden nightstand lamp partly bestowed the sufficiently expansive room with generous layer of angelic, divine light.

Even when the categorical, timid dithering dilemma of the former sleazy nightclub singer was whirling and twirling into her hurricane of thoughts vehemently stormy, it didn't prevent her from reconsidering and fathoming the relentless consequences of lurking in the lethally nocturnal mantle of the darkness outside, obscuring her clear view of examining in an adequate scrutiny the surroundings bracing her. 

"Don't worry about me, Father! I'll be alright." The soothingly nonchalant timbre, spotlighting the blonde’s utterance with her pure optimism, cusping with the absolute realism flashed Father Malachi’s rough grain of concern, sketching his heavy wrinkles and facial attributes abruptly. A vaguely sympathetic, flamboyant smile elaborated to be tugged at the corners of her naturally nude pink, plump lips.

"Be careful, Jude!" Shortly before the former pious nun fled the dorm room along with the chapel, she yanked the senior clergyman’s stiff, masculinely veiny hand into her elvish, creamily marbled and smacked a tenderly reassuring kiss on his frail knuckles for farewell. “As soon as I see Timothy, I’ll make sure to process with the exorcism.”

“Thank you, Father! Good night!” Maneuvering her kindhearted wave of her hand at the older gentleman after retiring to the exquisitely lacquered, hardwood door, the last thing which he saw of her very presence that bountifully filter the patchy hollow of loneliness in the wee hours of midnight.

The nefariously hideous creak of the dorm room’s door ghosted the separate of the both adults as Judy headed in her own way and retiring from the grandiose sacred building within a handful of minutes solely.

Her imminent destination was home and within a handful of minutes after her petite-frame’s very presence occupied the chapel’s exterior, meantime, a stealthily foul grapple with its fatalistically mammoth hand clawing her delicate, palish expanse with its fingers, hooked in a bloodthirstily venomous slit across the unblemishedly alabaster, glossy flesh behind her startled the blonde. Her initial reaction was breaking her facial expression with twisting curved her naturally roseate, chapped lips into a huge O, expressively raising an arch of her thin, dark eyebrow and flicking up with her smoky quartz bijous at the familiar tall figure behind her with its medley of breathily cinnamon and tobacco-stained breath, pinching her skin and electrifying goosebumps unceasingly showering her epidermis. Hitching her breathing intimidatingly, unevenly, the heart pulsations’ acceleration vigorously thumped into her brittle ribcage, sensing the fatal imminence of losing her life or at least the damage she will earn from the possessed doctor.

She wouldn’t deem the love of her life as an apocalyptic threat for her unless his spiritual possession was dancing squarely around her very essence with its stealthily grim dance of the demise and malice.

The former sleazy jazz nightclub singer’s stubbornly potent feeling of confronting her worst nightmare which was eventually the spiritually possessed doctor bestowed her with the quest of staying away as much as possible and get at home safe and sound or at least seek Father Malachi’s aid in no time before it was too late. Before her actual demise. Before her nemesis. Before the unholy devilish corruption persevered and won with contaminating bewitchingly dark the impending prey of vulnerability.

“T-Timothy,” At the moment, the younger gentleman manipulated his huge, roundish smoky quartz bijous glimmering with the brightest, the most sinful brass pigment sheened her lion mane of luxuriously old Hollywood gilded curls, curtaining her ghostly pale façade like stage’s projectors. Moistening embarrassingly with twirling her wet, strawberry-coloured tongue her lower and upper chapped lips, the masculinely lusty, unhealthily envious grip sealing her waist emanating from the younger gentleman’s solely free hand, the former licentious nightclub singer’s vowels and syllables unceasingly limped backward and forward in her throat to formulate a rational, adequately sober utterance even if it’s solely consisting a word. Further, the British compatriot’s brilliant sanity mindly detected his rare bird’s apprehension and the vigorous heart pulsations, throbbing into her ears as if the time has halted. “W-What are ya doing here?” The spur-of-the-moment’s recently ejection of the posed question, immediately begging for an immediate response built perpetually a logically plain conversation between the both former members of the church.

“W-Why do you think I’m here,” The eerie nonchalance and huskiness in the British compatriot’s rhetorical inquiry delivered icy chills to the older woman’s figure, oddly relishing and dearly treasuring the violent grasp bracing her neck with her former boss’s, haphazard pause squeezing his mouth whilst manipulating to twirl his swan tongue to sponge his rare bird’s nape of her neck, sponging its flawlessly porcelain flesh, stilling his manly deft grasp without having any intentions of releasing her unless Demogorgon played his own cards right and utterly satisfying himself with commanding his current victim of possession. “Rare bird?” Even though Jude was somehow elated to behold the former ambitious Monsignor in the wee hours of midnight after coveting eagerly, persistently to encounter one another somehow surreptitiously, she knew his intentions would damage her but the damage would be worth at least. In the sacrifice of her own life to behold even the young-looking, freshly handsome face of the love of her life in the last seconds.

“B- Because of me?” Girlishly timidity, adapting prominently to the former nun’s Boston lilt didn’t vanish as her weathered, sheepishly smooth hand managed to claw one of his hands that headstrongly nicked her slim waist.

“That’s correct,” All of a sudden, tightening his brace around her milky expanse, stoicism majestically contoured her facial features momentarily and gritting balefully her ivory teeth, writing lively her muscles and finally realizing his vilely unspeakable intentions of spellbinding his own nemesis on her. “That’s for the betrayal and contacting Father Malachi and Dr. Josiah Crawford, you old slut.” The stark unmasked malice in his scintillating glare as he pursued to confront her painfully stoic, parchment complexion paired villainously with his huskily vengeful undertone, accenting his menace, lingering his fingertips to tighten the invincible grip. In the meantime, his chocolate brown cabochons infernally blazed supernaturally bright citrine pigment, amalgamating with the natural eye colour, glittering his bleakly coldhearted, ominously vindictive glare, draining every ounce out of her and his very own soul with each elapsing second. The ferociously hostile nickname addressed to the Bostonian bestowed an unavoidably heavy rain of woefully crystalline tears, trickling downward her lower eyelids and intensifying the tandem’s frequency.

Purely furious adrenaline pumped into his veins, greatly blending with the fantastically great deal of ire jittering into his larger frame until the Bostonian’s slyness didn’t dump her with ushering the heel of her shoed feet to kick him backward in the groins and subsequently releasing herself from the invincible grip of the devil as Timothy thumped backward on the lavishly expansive snowy carpet, swaddling frostily his partly unconscious body, expelling a breathily unimaginable, painful groan under his breath, whereas seizing tightly his slits and viciously gritted ivory, still firm for his age teeth.

“That’s not part of our reunion, Jude!”

“Ya aren’t my Timothy,” After straightening entirely her posture and dashing up to the nigh naked grand oak tree to snatch a weapon, in order to protect herself with a sufficiently long, thick tree branch with meager decoration of snow, swaddling the wooden material. “Yar a fucking monster and deserve to be exorcized before hurting anybody else.”

“I-I’m trying to help you,” As soon as the British compatriot’s balance was moderated abruptly and straightening his posture from the ground with kindly patting his round, panted knees and buttocks from the snowy carpet’s aftermaths until a deftly strong smack of a tree branch beckoned across his youthfully refreshing, charming complexion, attempting to regenerate his own daredevil deep, morbidly appealing voice, oozing of masculinity and power.

“Fucking liar!” Elaborating a gutturally unhealthy croak with steamily flaring her tiny, flexible nostrils forcefully, the tall figure’s buttocks and back perched backward on the snow with his inability to poise moderately his pose utterly at last. “Ya deserve to be weakened and be in a psychiatric ward,” When Timothy’s conscience was fully, bountifully regenerated, consequently he manipulated his weathered, quivering satin hand to hex an inexorable telekinesis on the older lady as her petite frame collided into the grand, naked oak tree as her back reclined against the wooden material. The strong-willed clash of vowels and syllables and ferociously sore noises to be composed in an individually elegiac ode echoed inner voices into the former devotional woman of the cloth’s thoughts, managing to frequent the choir of her blinking caramel brown embers as her flimsy heart was torn off on thousand of glassily frail pieces, patching the hollows of her ribcage with its recurring heavy rain of tears, soaking her garments and flesh. “It’s yar fault, ya vile,” Regaining her plain posture after lifting up her rear from the ground and willfully hurting up to the former aspiring Monsignor, lingering her dancing spidery meaty fingers around the branch as her only weapon to weaken him, despite her attempts as well. “Toy boy!” Suddenly Timothy hexed a deliciously dangerous pyrokinesis at the approaching figure whilst manipulating his fingers to cast the bewitching spell and translucently wry twin fat tears gushing down his well-carved, chubby cheeks.

“Goodbye, rare bird!” The marvelously rotund vibrant flames blazed the muscles of the Bostonian as their proximity was violently diminishing with a few inches per a second, howsoever, his luck for possessing supernatural spells emanated from his vile essence’s new home. Diminishing coyly the decibels of his velvety voice with naked nonchalance, nevertheless, patterning roughly unforgiving with rueful timbre transmuted his last words to Judy into a mumble. Contemplating the fiercely thought-provoking illustration of the love of his life burning into the inescapably invincible flames of the demise thawed her naturally fleshy, fragile muscles with the gradually increasing body temperature and excessively sweltering heat.

The battlefield was a clash between two gladiators with their own one of a kind, authentic worldviews of good and evil and determining their own emphatic destiny either with a victory or a defeat. There were two strong-willedly and physically and mentally prepared gladiators or on the contrary fighters, but the real, grotesque truth was the winner was only one. The devil won over the very angelic God’s messenger to prevail Demogorgon’s daredevil game. A grotesquely heartaching game over!

Within a handful of minutes viciously dancing flames gnawing villainously the muscles and darkening the natural skin tone with lethally somber ashes, mapping her from head to toes, Judy’s final moments of her life spookily flumped forward as her lovely shaped, round knees swabbed modicum of the snow’s carpet clumsily, ruthlessly.

A ruefully complacent, lukewarm smirk victoriously was inked on Timothy’s parchment face, wearing thousand patterns of bloodily inevitable victory and bleeding thickly, portentously his smugness.


	18. Lethal Autopsy

_Trigger Warning for Masturbation, Strong Language and Necrophilia_

\--- ******* \---  
\--- _A Few Hours Later or So _\---

Within the advancing daily evolution from midnight up to the wee hours of the very early morning at snail's pace, the possessed doctor teleported himself along with Jude's devilishly motionless corpse to the nigh Boston hospital and surreptitiously conveying her to the private clinic to do an autopsy of her very fleshily immobile muscles.

Even though the British compatriot surreptitiously, inwardly mourned over the inhumane demise of his rare bird with his own mammoth, cold-blooded hands and supernaturaully invincible power, Demogorgon’s vile plans didn’t cease from existence after commanding his imminent nemesis.

Demogorgon would despise beholding his own victim of spiritual possession mourning over anybody’s demise especially the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer’s which truly meant anything to Timothy.

The most potent, lethal demon whose possession is divinely crying for conjuration by the most cautious priests and nuns in the diocese to bash out its vile essence from his new home. Somebody’s vulnerable, flimsy façade. Way too vulnerable for daredevil assault that affected its prey mentally and physically ruthlessly. The damage was inexorable.

Although the British compatriot’s stealthily, ruefully sorrow plundered the stark ecstasy and coldhearted, sadistic smugness that once roughly grained his facial attributes during his accomplishment of the quest to reunite with Jude and have revenge on her for her broken promises, it wasn’t unnoticed by his master, apt to superintend his impending intentions, in order to play his own cards right. Demogorgon wasn’t satisfied even when monitoring his recent prey to shed the unhallowed, translucently uneven tears, darkened by his real despondency of murdering nobody else than his own rare bird. He wanted Timothy to abide as cold-bloodedly sadistic and barbaric towards his victims as possible to outlast what he’s actually capable of. The patchy sanctum of mercy and hopes were the worst foes of his master to contemplate glassily, jadedly into the possessed doctor.

Luster medley of unconditional despondency, somewhat pangs of the conscience and agitation were exquisitely masked with the sadistically ruthless mask of the real demon’s façade, obscuring even modicum of sacred light and benevolence to curtain his strands.

In the meanwhile, the immobile petite frame was frostily convenient swaddled in a sheerly oyster-white blanket, obscuring the brightly artificial illumination by its electric bulb filtering her from head to toes. The private clinic for the performance of the autopsy was unevenly, peculiarly quiet and gruesomely bestowing bountiful comfort to the former ambitious Monsignor. The pure loneliness criminally cured his frequently throbbing headaches of listening to the rich soundtrack of mortals’ chatters as usually. The loneliness wasn’t for everybody else except the keen fans of the passionately curing, addictive solitude either for good or dreadful reasons especially good due to their daily clashes with the frequency of blowminding people’s chatters and babbles, outnumbering their inner voices and the separated pearly golden time to ponder over their remarkable activities.

“I-I’m really sorry,” After registering to snatch the unruly, plastic pristine glove from the counter and glancing at every mystic outskirt of the private clinic where no single soul would contemplate his very presence’s capability performing its autopsy of the former nun’s corpse. The sufficiently expansive room didn’t have even its own windows and the only guests that earned its warm welcome inside the underground hospital room were the artificial light and the relentless ebony darkness once the lights are out along with the possessed doctor and the dead body. The hysterically unavoidable, fierce sobs, breaking the British compatriot’s facial expression with its heavy rain of crystal, translucent tears immersing his glossy facial skin with its translucency of healthy dew pitched the background and his uncommonly loud, meaningful footsteps ghosting the cement flooring. “For everything I’ve done to you to suffer,” As soon as manifesting the plummet down of its intimately close distance, Timothy examined in a scrutiny her motionlessly eerie, nevertheless, indisputably appealing facial attributes with its fistful of headstrong gilt curls, curtaining her flawlessly porcelain, morbidly radiant façade. The fullness of her cherub, naturally nude pink lips didn’t even tremble once he traced gingerly a swan naked thumb to brush her lower lip, admiring her ethereal beauty. “My beautiful rare bird!” The uncommonly profound, diabolic timbre punctured the blend of his sobs prominently into his apology and accenting her friendly, lovely nickname whilst managing to cup her well-sculptured, sinisterly lukewarm cheek in the palm of his amusingly warm, consoling glove-clad hand.

The fleet doldrum, muting each kind of noise in the private clinic didn’t cease the hitched breathing of the former holy man and his uncontrollable, feeble sobs.

The unnerving, mischievous ticking of the wall clock, indicating its real time at the moment with its tiny, abstractly precise lines prominently designated a quarter past three o’clock in the celestially fresh morning.

After managing to reach his meaty, virginal fingers to clumsily unzip the Bostonian’s slacks along with his and undressing the rest of her convenient attires and tossing his pristinely doctor apron along with his crimson cashmere, cozy sweater and underwear, thereafter the opulent pile of discarded attires occupied the cemented floor.

As soon as the both members of the church’s natural nakedness, subsequently the former holy priest lowered his timidly quivering, weathered fingers to work persistently on his shaft, whereas darting his fixated medley of coffee brown and brass bijous on the blonde’s naked corpse. The strong-willed, rebellious gears on his hard crotch paired with his gloved hand’s featherly soft, sensual trace of his starkly muscular, toned torso, admiring his fairly fit anatomy for his own age and nicking his throat with series of breathily, breathtakingly steamy groans and moans, almost dying on his tongue tip.

“Holy Jesus!” Lowering the decibels of the megawatt cuss under his breath transmuted into a sensual mumble, stilling his digits and fingertips to jerk the hard crotch’s flesh and roughing its texture abruptly with each touch, electrifyingly grazing the delicate, alabaster skin. The precum on his manhood’s tip vibrantly, beamingly glimmered due to the beautifully eye-catching’s illumination of the artificial light, filtering the entire room with secure, promising light. “That feels damn good!”

Meanwhile, after inserting his manhood at the entrance of the Bostonian’s lusciously mauve slit and grappling her unblemishedly glossy hips after spending a handful of minutes hedonistically pleasuring himself, he bended down to press a fatalistically delicate peck on her naturally roseate, plump lips and adjusting his established length inside her core.

At first, the thrusts were sorely sluggish and slowly but surely, nevertheless, after mustering up with the meager control over the dead body’s feminine, insatiable slit until the forcefully ferocious thrusts escalated to savagely quicker, more nimble and hardening the sultry kiss with lightly, deftly salivating her lips, amalgamating with controlling the intensifying kiss and wildly louder moans and groans, sailing out of his wet, strawberry-coloured tongue.

“Holy fuck! You’re so tight for me,” At the moment, the former aspiring Monsignor dumped one of his mammoth, masculinely secure hands to lukewarmly manifest its imminent destination to her mauve, fashionably swollen bundle of nerves and working his virginally bloodthirsty fingers on it with circling the featherly soft and swift massages. “And only for me, Jude! I fucking love you so much.” The megawatt depth of the devil’s violently anomaly into his voice sharpened the austere puncture of his caution, breathlessly, efficiently conjugating the vowels and syllables after a strong-willed dance and clash to craft them nimbly. Crystalline, wry tears traded mutual dew after its cataract of the snivel’s aftermaths drenching her feebly palish, silken complexion. “We’ll be together very soon.”

**Author's final note: Pardon me for the short chapter and for its brutality in its chapter, nevertheless, it was high time to escalate its ambience as well. Moreover, the epilogue of the book is within 2 chapters solely! I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter, despite its trigger warnings and short length! **


	19. Granite Funeral

\--- ***** **\---  
\--- _The Next Morning _\---  
\--- _2nd of March, 1965 _\---

When the wee hours of the impending morning slowly but surely bled into extraordinarily celestial daylight episode after the profoundly unnerving night, Josiah took care of Jude's corpse autopsy and phoned exceedingly the juvenile couple to break the news about the abrupt, grotesque demise of the former devotional sister of the church. Even though the juvenile couple were wondering since Jude's absence they acknowledged in the wee hours of the morning until they earned the urgent phone call from Dr. Josiah Crawford, it was sinisterly difficult for them to overcome their closest person from their small family's death.

Despite the French girl's literal obsession with the aliens and supernatural notion in the existence of superior power, stealthily reigning in the crudely cold, incredibly enormous world nonetheless, her mixed feelings about the possessed doctor were inexorably interpreted as an absolute reality circumstance.

Moreover, the young gasman wasn't very fond of Timothy and his nefariously appalling deeds, seeding its wighty spawns of the vile to fog his thoughts and vision with viewing him in the possibly darkest light, scarcely illuminating his benevolent lighter side. Even though Kit knew deeply so far that Timothy's pearly life was imperilled to be deprived from Demogorgon's starkly monstrous, infernal hands, he couldn't grant a second chance to the British compatriot after being the essential reason for Jude's death and most of all, inhumane sadism and the potently frequent involvement of supernatural power reckoned as telekinesis and pyrokinesis to weaken his once endangering his life target.

Kit has almost never liked or at least having modicum of sympathy for the former aspiring Monsignor at all. There were a few times when Kit could alter his ferociously intensifying hostile feelings for him especially after arranging his, Grace, Lana and Jude's releases, howsoever, their relationship hasn’t even apt to any changes for better. Kit didn’t care about Timothy and his existence after fleeing the grandiose dilapidating, ill-famed madhouse where his condition was far cry from murderously insane and initially framing him for the barbaric homicides of women and skinning their corpses, consequently naming him Bloody face the nefarious serial killer of the small city of Massachusetts.

Once Josiah recommended the juvenile pairing to organize altogether the private, small funeral of the Bostonian though their financial issues to bury the corpse in the nigh cemetery, the trio managed to take an utter control over the privately organized funeral.

What it utmost saddened the French compatriot and her partner was that Judy didn’t have any family, reckoned as cousins, siblings or just anybody else to pay a visit for a few hours on her funeral and presentably honor her memory. Anyway they were the only family she has ever had, in spite of the angel’s unsacredly unpromising risk to lose his own job in the nigh hospital where he worked actually.

The wee hours of the morning’s silver-tongued, promisingly elating birdsongs brightly contrasting with its turtle’s pace grief over the former pious sister of the church’s sudden demise and funeral ceremony. The late winter’s roundish, monumental sun’s starkly aureate filter showered the empty graveyard and refilling the patchy hollow with its radiance to soothe its visitors.

Today the graveyard wasn’t assaulted by a swarm of general population at all. The exceptional visitors were either honoring the very memory of their deceased friends and relatives or on the contrary burying them.

“Doctor Josiah, your kindness has no bounds!” The brunette’s strawberry-coloured, wet tongue nimbly elaborated the vowels and syllables, almost dying on her tongue tip after series of stutters due to her overwhelmed heartache, amalgamating with the cordial gratitude towards the angel for taking care of burying her former rival’s dead body. In the interim, she managed to drop her head lazily, ruthlessly on Kit’s broad, muscly shoulder whilst manifesting to bow despondently her head, her lapis lazuli huge, round bijous transfixed on the persistently hardworking doctor whose great deal of efforts to still his curled pristinely potent, creamy fingers around the shovel’s wooden handle and classily scoop a mouthful of dark soil from the ground. At the moment, the ground’s hole of its dig process wasn’t even half its efficient progress. “You don’t have any idea how much you helped us to save our money for a grave-digger, you know!” The confession’s elaboration was strong-willedly inexorable after sailing out of her tongue tip after flushing her tiny, flexible nostrils to cleanse myriad of futile oxygen, constricting her brittle lungs.

Even though the couple was beyond overwhelmed and mesmerized in the same time by Josiah’s benevolence and his ginormous risk to be abolished from his own position, he did everything to save Kit and Grace’s money for a grave-digger and undertaker even purchase with their remaining budget a plain coffin.

Notwithstanding the circumstances, the duo’s heavy rain of crystalline, elegantly translucent tears rimmed its rich rivulets onto their lower eyelids and clinging its moist stickiness to their unblemishedly porcelain, youthful facial skins.

“Needless to thank me, Grace! I’m always there to help every troubled human being.” Suddenly the older man manipulated the shovel’s silver round point to spear the ground, in order to take a break for a split second with shooting a fleet glance at the duo and subsequently maintaining an appropriate eye contact. Ushering his colossal, reassuringly smooth hand to daub the thickly ugly veil of clamminess, mantling his entire façade ruthlessly, a vague sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth spearing with its megawatt radiance their vision.

“Everything will be alright, my love!” Snaking a strong, secure arm to brace the French compatriot’s freshly slim waist, Kit lowered the decibels of his velvety northern lilt’s sharp accent into a mumble, pressing a tender peck on top of her head, whereas drawing her petite-frame towards his muscular, toned chest to cradle her face. “She is on better place right now and watching us like an angel and,” Stilling the cradle of Grace’s head, meanwhile, her crystalline, sticky tears soaked his coat-sleeve-clad forearm, quietly sniffling to herself. “Smiling at us and wishing us the best even though she tried our best to keep us save with arranging the ex-Monsignor’s exorcism with Father Malachi’s council.” Lingering the low-spirited, teary frowns adorning their facial features, they managed meek nods at the older gentleman’s smile and then getting back to work.

“But she’s gone forever.” Conjugating with teary, frail timbre the impending utterance’s vowels and syllables, a bittersweet lump burdened her feminine Adam’s apple and throughout graciously flexing her fleshy throat muscles to swig the lump.

“Due to the fact, she’s out of this world, that doesn’t mean she’s gone forever, Grace!” The honeyed calmness in the young gasman’s whisper, delicately, sultrily fanning and gnawing the brunette’s dainty earlobe sent her paradoxal paroxysm, waltzing eagerly inside her figure. The numbness, icily swaddling their flimsy hearts with its vigorous clomps whispering into their chests didn’t cease to its chaotically heartbreaking existence. “She’s going to be always with us. Even in our hearts.”

“Of course! She would be a spectacular godmother and grandmother of our ray of sunshine.” In the interval, the juvenile brunette manipulated her elvish, milky hand to perch on her small bump with the unborn one of a kind creation of hers, peacefully guarded inside her with its brittle fingertips admiring the softness of its swollen stomach. Choiring its frequency of the blinks and the perpetual heavy rain’s tempest of tears submerging with dew her garments and skin, the haphazardness of the gasman’s larger, protective hand pawed the tandem of hands. “I truly miss her.”

“I miss her more!”

\--- ******* \---

\--- _A Few Days Later _\---

\--- _5th of March, 1965_ \---

A few days after the exquisitely organized private funeral of the former pious woman of the cloth in the nigh cemetery of the small city of Massachusetts, the British compatriot’s recalcitrant attempts to pretend as if he wasn’t involved in the brutal homicide and a bloodthirsty necrophilia during his shifts in the hospital peculiarly questioned his colleague who was more than ready to play his daredevil game with testing his patience.

Kit and Grace were gracefully invited to the television for a special interview in honor of their old friend and the former ambitious Monsignor.

Just a day ago, the penniless former priest resigned from the nearby Boston hospital where he used to work for awhile, in order to escape his ex-coworker’s harassment. Demogorgon’s ominously ferocious plans geared throughout the frail skeleton of the former priest and anticipating its golden, triumphant apogee’s sequence of its aftermaths and playing his own cards right with his current prey of vile essence.

The devil trawled its bloodthirstily ominous essence and blood to overflow into Timothy’s mortally impure veins. He was still trapped with the demon inside his frail skeleton. He had plans yet for Timothy Howard. Not just mere ones. A superbly authentic even though Demogorgon was almost ready to establish his own presence to its evanescence and dump the former holy clergyman into the chaotic hollow with nobody else to support and grant him myriad of unconditional love, murderous warmness and majestic comfort throughout the process of post-possession.

Anyway thanks to his short-termed job as a doctor in the hospital, the British compatriot was equipped with sufficient money for abundance of things, determining his survival’s catharsis and increasing the chances of his strength and stamina’s stability.

When the daylight’s daily episode bled into a gradual nocturnal episode with its inescapable evolution of the day’s regime, the former clergyman went in the nearest bar to pamper himself to cleanse his own nerves that obnoxiously clouded him in the past days and sorting his mind.

The resilience of the versatile, timid gait of Timothy with its whispering masculine, foreign footsteps echoing against the tiled flooring of the bar spotlighted his tall figure with taking a seat on one of the conveniently retro bar stools.

“What would you like to drink, sir?” Even though the bartender pampered the clients, despite their occupations, the politeness, greatly blending with his raspy voice highlighted his enquiry, whereas maneuvering his meaty, masculinely elderly fingers’ cloth to daub the recently clean scotch glass with its oyster-white flimsy fabric getting rid off of its appalling, eye-catching stains. At the moment, the television’s screen eagerly jumpcut its scenes of the recently broadcasting interview with the guiltless pairing Kit and Grace, lowly humming and meagerly discernible for the ex-doctor’s vulnerable ears.

“Just a glass of bourbon, please!” Within a handful of minutes of finding the suitable bottle of bourbon and prepared scotch glass on the cherry wood bar table, thereafter the polite bartender delivered presentably, hospitably the scotch glass to the recent welcoming, straightforward visitor with bobbing his head in a solemn gratitude. “Thank you!” A primly coy smile was inked on his parchment, young-looking yet complexion after gladly accepting the scotch glass of sinfully brown liquor with its lusciously insatiable fragrance wafting across his nostrils.

“Thank you for accepting our request to join this interview, Mr. Walker and Miss Bertrand,” The haphazardness of the interviewer’s pauses wrenched abruptly the former aspiring Monsignor’s cocoa brown cabochons to be fixated on the abstract, life-like television screen’s playing pictures momentarily. “First and foremost, what would you say in honor of your deceased friend that is associated with the ex-priest Timothy Howard, who used to be her colleague and somehow a romantic interest?”

“First and foremost, Jude used to be a really gracious friend of ours and she would make a brilliant godmother and grandmother of our future child! I really loved how compassionate and selfless she was, despite her dynamically risky and adventurous character as well.”

“And your word on the topic, Mr.Walker?” Then the interviewer shifts his attention in no time to the younger gentleman with his professionally presentable, refined undertone puncturing his formality in the voice.

“I really used to admire and like or at least have modicum of sympathy for a man like Timothy Howard, who’s responsible for our arranged release, but those associations with Owen Manson were astonishingly gruesome and leaving us speechless.” When the younger gentleman’s mention of the former holy man’s name and association tingled alarming tones into Timothy’s vulnerable ears after gulping series of tiny, sinfully delightful sips from its brown liquor, he furrowed his thick, darkly expressive eyebrows in sheer anger. The betrayal waltzed his adrenaline, pulsating furiously into his body.


	20. Catharsis (EPILOGUE)

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**Author's First Note: I know how saddening is to say farewell to this story with its last chapter, but here we go! Pardon me for certain chapters that appeared to be quite sloppy and limping, nevertheless, I opt to cut them shorter even to end this book as early as possible before Christmas!**

**In addition to the epilogue, I've added a music that will be based on the very final scene of this chapter and associating with the genuine sentiments, dominating in its retrospective atmosphere and Timothy's nemesis. **

**I hope you like and enjoy the epilogue! :))**

\--- ******* \---

The betrayal was coming after his impending victim that was already trapped in its inevitable vicious circle or on the contrary the questionable dilemma of every human being. The betrayal was a common apocalyptic phenomenon, commonly occurring due to any soul’s sugarcoated, sweet lies being catapulted into its face when confronting the absolute reality and the paradoxal secrets behind its back which may be never discovered unless its individual’s childlike inquisitiveness. Almost every second human being was victimized and relentlessly confining into the betrayal aftermaths’ daredevil game cage where the escape was guaranteed at any cost, howsoever, the unspeakably forgiveness and atonement were under no circumstances.

The stark, merciless adrenaline vehemently pulsated into the British compatriot’s tall frame and coursing villainously through his muscles and bones along with the ferocious wrath pumping into his veins like overflowing and erupting volcano.

His heart couldn’t handle any longer the balefully restless thuds into his ribcage and tearing off under the form of a flimsy cloth with its extravagant fabric, constructing its attire’s anatomy, resembling the thousand of shattered glassy, crystal fragments of the heart due to Kit and Grace’s recent interview, broadcasted inescapably on the television in the wee hours of the evening. The betrayal could be interpreted in a thousand worth words a page, paging up the crucial motives and recent sentiments and feelings of the wretched soul.

Demogorgon was pretty aware of his current victim of spiritual possession’s medley of inevitably baleful rage, heartache and betrayal.

On one hand, the master of the demons’ pure satisfaction of his slave emanated from his rage and for showing again the hints of the diabolical even if they’re less domineering than a mere mortal’s emotions and feelings, paired with abilities.

On other hand, the heartache and betrayal brewing and cooking inside Timothy enraged even more his master and flabbergastingly overwhelming his disquieting nerves with weakening perpetually, slowly but surely the former ambitious Monsignor and depriving his supernaturally detrimental, devilish power and rendering him to regret even pay for his sheer weakness with his inability to stand even for a mere mortal that imperils his condition and very being in general.

Despite the fact that the former aspiring Monsignor scarcely noticed the wee hints of his perpetual weakness of his supernatural, invincible devilish strength and the stamina’s versatile plummet, his fragile meaty, masculinely pristine fingers lingered in bracing tandem around the strangely reassuring scotch glass’s material with the brown liquor and banally fixating his smoky quartz bijous on the television screen with the broadcasted interview with the juvenile couple. Grasping suddenly his fingertips onto the glass material, he was all ears to listen the sequel of the interview as well.

“I didn’t know even the diocese after stripping him off from his clerical possessions and declaring his insanity even faking his diagnose under the form of schizophrenia will rename him with such,” As soon as it was the young gasman’s turn to elaborate his own utterance with its stubborn clash of vowels and syllables, limping forward and backward on his berry-coloured, wet tongue to construct the rational sequel of the raised topic in the interview, stammer wrenched his spontaneous pause with a heavy sigh of overwhelmedness fastening his ribcage after conjugating the fresh oxygen at the top of his lungs. The stark evidence of his undeniably unorthodox forceful pressure he’s being under through his dynamic roller coaster of experience lately was quite obvious in his affliction over the former pious sister of the church’s sudden demise. “Such a name. Owen Manson! Doesn’t it sound like if it belonged to an infamous psychopath, does it?” The rhetorical posed question, begging for stark attention with its focus spotlighting Kit attracted the audience’s attention with a jumpcut to the huge mass of guests, overcrowding the seats and the vigorous tempest of wrenched widened roundish, big eyes, compulsively differing in the genuine climate of their gawks, darted to the interviewer and his recently presentable guests. “I didn’t know those associations with the renamed identity of Timothy Howard with Owen Manson would be responsible for his double standards, you know! Like the disturbing necrophilia, demonic prayers,” At the moment, after violently manifesting to lug the glass of bourbon to graze his thick coat of bourbon, coating the British compatriot’s balefully curved lips into a bared teeth, spearing gently the glass to bestow the remaining alcoholic beverage’s remnants to hydrate his organs and throat with its sinfully insatiable taste after flexing his throat muscles to swig greedily, hungrily at last.

“H-How dare you in the name of our neutrality?” Lowering abruptly the husky vowels under his breath into a hideous mutter, the former holy priest registered narrow of his twain of pools of abysmally expressive coffee brown bijous, speaking galore of emotions. Tears weren’t even worth to rim his lower eyelids. Despondent sniffles wouldn’t even compensate the medley of low-spirits, fiery ire and numbness, dooming every cell and muscle of his very being. The tear-stained faces wouldn’t even suffocate and diminish his ire at all. He was sensing the betrayal bracing him in a vicious circle where nobody was his side to hear his roar or at least trade with one another a comfortingly warm, affable hug that was worth for a single minute or a half a minute to warm the pit of his stomach after the frostbites of cold-heartedness and sadism glazed his muscles and bones.

“So my question is,” The heavy stammers of the older gentleman on the television due to the intensifying atmosphere of its dramatic aura, welling in the interview roared the electrifying goosebumps his delicate epidermis after registering his mammoth, naturally crinkled with perfectly normal wrinkles due to the inescapable aging process hand to retrieve his mug of freshly brewed green tea to sip of it before dumping the marbled mug on the round table. “Is Timothy Howard still out there?”

“No, he’s not!” Wryly sarcastic chuckle, clicking the roof of the French lady’s tongue after sipping from her glass of freshly lukewarm water hydrated her oral caverns and organs, crafting emphatically the utterance with her feline mouth.”No matter if he’s in northern, southern, western or even eastern Boston, he could be anywhere found and I’m thinking he’s still working in that miserable hospital where one of his co-workers reported about his delusional actions and possession.” The awkwardness was broken into a gruffily cleared throat with a raspy cough, emanating from the young woman after muffling politely, gently the cough.

Within a couple of minutes after fleeing squarely the bar without thinking twice to look back in the television screen and paying for his beverage, subsequently horde of police officers dashed to the facility with a few police cars and parking them past the medium-sized building, in order to catch the nefarious ex-doctor who was with the vile essence inside him.

The bar’s entrance double door swung open-mindedly broadly opened at the vista of the authorities’ arrival to find Timothy and arrest him, despite for their own woeful misfortune with manifesting their vindictive aimed arms at the customers and barman as their heavy, haughty footsteps murmured against the floor.

“Hands! Show us your hands!”

“Show me your hands!” The naked, orthodox panic swaddled icily the group of guiltless strangers to raise their hands at the authoritative command bashfully as the rest of the policemen investigated skeptically the corners of the bar and their oblivion of the dumped, desolated scotch glass with a few centimeters of bourbon’s remnants, pooling its surface extraordinarily, originally with a dollar, aloofly escorting it.

\--- ******* \---

\--- _A Half an Hour Later or So_ \---

Once the British compatriot fled the bar and paid for his own beverage, staying away from the detrimental hazards of the authorities’ vicious claws to deprive his entire, celestial freedom and diminishing the number of the freely roaming general population, his awkwardly sluggish lurch up to the nearby church to seek atonement and pray for his heart after being the essential core of Judy’s demise and the aftermaths of sinisterly hair-rising deeds.

Even his teleportation and supernatural strength were ebbing off from his muscle tissues, ceasing to its existence to cast a spell ever again like before. Probably Demogorgon had enough of his stuff. Probably Demogorgon was potently, finely fed up with the powerless side of Timothy when the sticky, ruthlessly translucent tears unmasked his stamina and strength’s stability abruptly.

The weathered fingertips that once were capable of manipulating every superhuman power that was invincible hex, obtained from the devil populating its prey’s body were starched with frostbites, death and unwavering glacial coldness, mantling his hands and persistently marching up to the church muscles. The motels could be his last hope to have a warm, welcoming night with a peaceful slumber, however, haunting memories of the past such as the violation of the dead body of his rare bird, the infernal prayers and the homicide even being responsible for imprinting his own criminally unspeakable damages on her from head to toes.

Hitching his heavy breathing and the whispering stomps against the luxuriously monumental, timeless snowy carpet with each elapsing second and the headstrong wind’s howling through his ears and slapping his exposed flesh. A handful of minutes divided the real intimate proximity with the chapel after persistently marching without an ado.

Hopelessness indicated his sluggishly refined gait and his imminent destination to the chapel to beg for redemption or at least a second chance to save his money instead of recklessly spending them for one night in a cheesy motel.

As soon as the manipulation of his curled colossal, weathered hand into a balled fist to push the monumentally fashionably lacquered double door of the chapel with its notorious squeak croaking the background.

The surprising emptiness of the sacred building’s interior didn’t fade away with its sheer illumination, glinting the cocoa brown gemstones of the British compatriot, lurching up to one of the nigh lacquered pews to perch his rear onto the wooden surface and rest after the long, arduous destination on foot.

Stilling the trembling motion of his both mammoth, smoothly milky hands even shortly after knotting the virginally villainous, feeble fingers for a sacred, promising prayer and bowing faintly his head as his forehead rested on his fingers for support, wrenching shut his eyelids for increasing the prayer’s aureate, divine effect nonetheless.

Guiltily swigging the soar lump, seething his Adam’s apple shortly before honing up his nostrils to flush its sharp exhale to commence with the recite of the prayer in a docile mumble, whereas his mumble cracking his ears.

“Lord Jesus, for too long I’ve kept you out of my life. I know that I am a sinner and that I cannot save myself.” The more the orison’s progress escalated, the more the former devotional clergyman’s unwelcoming, austere stammers shortly before the notorious creak of the double chapel door tingled alarming tones into his ears, discreetly unknowledgeable with its owner of the reproduced, sinisterly disturbing background noise doctor Josiah Chance Crawford. The angel himself. An eerie flat line blurred each pattern of misery and felicity, cracking the former priest’s features, permeating boldly across his nude pink lips. “No longer will I close the door when I hear you knocking.” The oddly resilience of Josiah’s silent footsteps, echoing against the marbled flooring of the hallowed façade hair-risingly electrified Timothy’s epidermis with inexorable flood of terrified goosebumps. Little did Timothy know that there was an uninvited visitor inside the building at all. The doldrum was pretty relaxing and scary in the same time. Horrifyingly bristling the epidermis with electrifying, indisputably spine-tingling goosebumps to each victim of loneliness. Although the former man of the cloth was all alone and his life was on the verge of the life and literal death with the morbid lukewarmness, mantling glacially, graciously his frail skeleton, the last, abiding hope was in the prayers and always counting on the fresh starts even if they’re almost futile due to his nefarious profile, paging up its criminal history with the murder of Jude and the faked diagnose of schizophrenia. “By faith I gratefully receive your gift of salvation. I am ready to trust you as my Lord,” When the angel maintained a platonically intimate distance with his ex-colleague and seating alongside him with joining his desolated company by refilling the patchy void with his very precious presence and subtly clawing his muscular, crestfallenly broad shoulder, crying for comfort and unconditional love and warmness even support he hasn’t harvested for awhile at least.

“T-Timothy,”

“What are you doing here, Josiah?” Intensifying manually its megawatt velvety timidness in his inquiry jingled hopelessness and despondence into the younger gentleman’s vulnerable ears. In the interval, the former ambitious Monsignor flinched fearfully at his former co-worker’s delicate, surreptitiously soothing touch grazing his muscular, toned shoulder with hesitance of tilting his head to encounter the eagerly pursuing gaze of the other gentleman.

“I know you’re suffering from depression and loneliness, Timothy! But that way it won’t work with curing your despondence.”

“Are you here to,” Shaking wryly his head in solemn stubborn disagreement to his former colleague’s words with conjugating a ruefully dark, fiendish chuckle with incredulity roughly contouring his facial attributes, honing the irony’s sharpness in his punctured enquiry, gradually paused for a split second. “Bamboozle me after the authorities are after me, my former master abandoned me, everybody thinks I’m the insane ex-Monsignor that used to run a mental institution for criminally insane,” Elaborating a squeaky, rusty hiss through his serpentine tongue, oozing of naked truths, sailing out of the tongue tip with each advancing second in the exposure of the realistic treachery and desperation. “Look what, Josiah! I was a liar many times. I was involved in a murder. I was a pure manipulator and now I’m the joke in the whole freaking story.” Dancing his benevolently creamy, rather reassuring fingers around the tissue and fingertips and digits soothingly kneading, providing myriad of unconditional consolation and warmness heating the pit of his stomach. “I know so far every one of us has their own melancholic times like pure weakness and they used to be once tremendously, unnaturally strong ever in their own lives. I’ve hurt many people and Demogorgon knows I’m a pathetic and weak dastard that has his own very human times like crying, heartbreaks and whatever comes to your mind to think of the times when we should shed a tear at least.”

“Timothy, listen,”

“There’s no time for listening, Josiah! The police will be quite soon after me even they will know I’m here and bringing myself into a miserable church to pray for my own heart even for a possible atonement or at least hearing God’s roar,” All of a sudden, the British compatriot cut off curtly the other man shortly after building the abundance of vowels and syllables, clashing willingly, potently for their own position to nick his tongue tip categorically, continuously shaking his head in disagreement and barely believing his former co-worker could be that altruistically open-minded and humanitarian even towards the sinners like him. The sinners are everywhere. Nobody is the real incarnation of perfection. The imperfection was constructing perpetually every living being with their own of kind flaws. “At the top of his lungs! They aren’t banally dumb, because they won’t allow me to get away with that despicable homicide I committed and violating her corpse in the private clinic. I feel God is no longer next to me and he has already abandoned me along with my conscience and being! I feel like carrion for myself and everybody else especially for Jude’s roaming spirit that hasn’t even found peace with herself just because of me.” In the meanwhile, what the angel ushered was flattening his thin, baby-pinkish lips into a pensive, cautious purse, being all ears during the desperate monologue of Timothy.

“Shh, shh, shh, Timothy, no! You aren’t carrion for anybody!”

“I’m! Just admit it!”

“No,” Suddenly the British compatriot’s facial expression broke into a hysterically diabolical, fierce sob, tingling alarming tones into Josiah’s ears, thus snaking his securely satin, masculinely toned arms to secure the older gentleman’s upper back for a comforting, meaningfully delicate embrace. “You aren’t for first and last time! I truly mean it, Timothy! Just hear me out loud, okay?”

“D-Do you truly mean it?” When the pairing lifted their rears from the pew and auburn-haired man meaningfully aided by guiding shyly, kindly Timothy to one of the chapel’s rooms, throughout the strong howling wind’s ballad chanted eloquently its chanson outdoors where the apocalyptically wintery nightmare was for every hopeless rambler.

“Y-Yes. I truly mean it, Tim! S-Stop doubting my words as if they belonged to the devil!” Another sob vehemently jimmied the former aspiring Monsignor’s mouth with a heavy rain of crystal, translucent tears welling into his cocoa brown big, round gems and subsequently allowing the tempest of salty, sticky tears staining his unblemished alabaster complexion. “Everything is going to be okay. I promise you!” Pressing an affectionately platonic peck on top of his frosty head which has been a barren of nothing than headaches and bickers even unnerving stress and overwhelmedness in the past days for the former holy man until the church’s room, generously cloaked in a thick mantle of ebony darkness embraced the realistic illustration for the duo with the recurring support of the angel of the formerly possessed ex-doctor to the forthcoming and final destination. The infamously creaky chair to perch his desperate feet for support until his head was supported by the rope.

“W-Where are we, Josiah? What is this place?” Shortly after Josiah encouragingly ushered Timothy to peak his figure onto the chair and poising its balance of his posture, thereafter the oblivion of his incredulity was unnerving the God’s messenger with furrowing stealthily haughty his dark, thick eyebrow in the most expressive, coldblooded motion.

“Don’t worry about it, dear Tim! You’re as safe as possible from the dangers of this cold,” When the duo’s very presences occupied every outskirt of the compact, pitch-black-mantled-clad room in the hallowed façade, subsequently Josiah maneuvred his colossal, deft hands to swiftly push the chair as Timothy’s body hung on the rope and bashfully, somberly swaying with weak intensity indicated its death’s gait. The demise was coming for its impending victim. “Crudely unforgiving and selfish world and its expansive outskirts!”

“Are you planning my death, Josiah? Is that because of your broken promises?” The forsaken ajar opened door with its small scale of gap to allow its modicum of celestially gilt light to penetrate through the untouchable darkness obscured yet Timothy’s vision and bleeding its mist of surroundings, encircling him in the very room. He was quite aware of his ex-colleague’s intentions right away, howsoever, it was too late to stop him or halt the death penalty.

“I’m rather trying to help you to stop suffering and whining due to the sore pain of everything you’ve been through, Timothy! Don’t ever forget your deeds speak everything about you!” The haphazardness of the younger gentleman’s lulling shush into the lurking ebony darkness gave chills to the former man of the cloth who’s all alone and dying, swaying his almost dead body on a miserable, invincible rope to halt his sore agony. The genuine notion behind the eerie wisdom of the God’s messenger caught him off guard, pondering profoundly, logically in its genuine meaning until the other gentleman was no longer escorting Timothy Howard. Dumping his struggling with its combat between the life and the death body to persevere as much as possible and his breathing elaborating gruesomely, marvelously ebbing off until the hoary tissues no longer supported every cell of his.

“No! That’s not part of the deal we had. Josiah! You pathetic liar.” Unceasingly reproducing the sluggish stutters in series of pauses just shortly before the demise populated with its mortal immobility to halt his incessantly gearing muscles and bones along cells’ choir lastly, the tempest of salty, frustratedly searing tears soaked his facial skin along with his garments.

The nemesis played its own cards right. The treachery of Demogorgon, his ex-master was an efficient success of his nemesis. The devil was always a winner, no matter how imperfect the sinner was. Is there a possible second chance yet? Nobody is certain about this controversial question. Only one God knew the stark truth. Demogorgon was unbeatable kind of a monster.

** _The End_ **

**Author's Last Note:**

**I genuinely appreciate every kind of support such as read, vote even a feedback to make sure how much you've enjoyed the book and mostly the chapters that construct the entire work! Without you this book wouldn't survive even to peak to its epilogue! **

**I've a few questions to the readers that have caught up from the beginning to the very end of this work: Are you more into fluff or on the contrary angst as trope? Did you enjoy Timothy as possessed, pre-possessed or post-possessed version? Why, tho? Do you think there's a possibility for their reunion and if yes, does the purgatory count to be their last hope for atonement? **

**I hope you genuinely liked and enjoyed this book along with the epilogue! Share with me your thoughts on the culmination! Don't be shy! :))**


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